


Metanoia

by LornaLane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Death, Dark, Dementor's Kiss, Depression, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Smut, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Suicide, Torture, Tragedy, Trauma, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LornaLane/pseuds/LornaLane
Summary: PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE FOR NECESSARY CONTEXT.This is an alternate continuation of my prior "Quocumque Modo" series.The Dark Lord reigns victorious and the Wizarding World of Britain is being rebuilt in his image where darkness rules and cruelty is mundane. Valeria Winters, the wife of Draco Malfoy after being married prior to their seventh year, struggles to maintain their status in order to stay alive. As the crushing weight of the world threatens to cripple them, old faces return and dangerous secrets come to light. Whether or not they can sustain their strength to survive and their wills to live becomes the fight of their lives. Their deep bond for one another is the only thing they have left to fight for.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue: Draco Malfoy's Greatest Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Be Advised: This story is incredibly dark. If you are familiar with my previous work, this story will be much darker than that. I highly encourage that if you are uncomfortable with the graphicness and darkness of this work to avoid it. This story is also very emotionally bleak and dark. I will not write descriptions of graphic non-consensual sexual content, but it is referenced and implied in this story. I will post warnings in the notes in the beginning of each chapter. If I miss something there or in the tags, let me know and I will add appropriate warnings. Please note that just because it is written, does not mean I condone it. These dark and mature themes are not meant to be romanticized in any way, shape or form. Nor are the characters necessarily designed to be good people. The relationship between Draco and the OC is meant to be codependent and toxic, as is necessary for the story. Again, this is not meant as romanticization. 
> 
> Necessary Context: This is an alternate continuation of my "Quocumque Modo" series with the same characters. It diverges around the 35th chapter of "The Undoing." Other than one other major detail, the rest of this follows from that series. You do not necessarily have to read it, but there are many details that might make this story a bit confusing for you. I will, of course, be fuddling with canon a little bit in the beginning as needed. 
> 
> I had this idea and wanted to experiment as I enjoy character studies and I wanted to explore a timeline where Voldemort wins in the context of my previous stories. I had enough of an idea formulated to post it and I like working on multiple projects simultaneously. It's a bit self-indulgent, but I wanted to put on paper, so to speak, to get it out of my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: War. Violence. Major Character Death. Threats of death.

**May 1998**

Draco almost didn’t have it in him. He could not believe his luck.

Harry Potter stood before him in the Room of Hidden Things as perfectly still as a statue, petrified and unable to move. Draco avoided looking at his schoolyard rival’s face that bore an expression of anger and shock.

“You did it, Malfoy!” hissed Crabbe greedily. “Let’s get ‘im.”

Draco stopped Crabbe’s hand. “No. He belongs to the Dark Lord.”

“Then call ‘im,” Goyle said nodding to Draco’s left arm. Draco couldn’t. If Voldemort appaeared in the castle whilst the battle raged the loss of life would be even greater. The point of handing over Potter was to get it over with quickly. He was trying not to tremble, attempting to quiet his conscience. He could not risk Valeria stumbling upon the scene, though he hadn’t the faintest idea where she was.

Draco took a tentative step forward, wand aimed squarely at Potter. He quickly confiscated his own wand back from Potter and shoved the one his mother loaned him into a pocket. He searched Potter’s own pockets and found the cloak. Of course. The damn cloak.

“We’ll walk him out on our own. He and I will be under the cloak so we can’t be seen,” Draco said. His voice sounded like it was not his own. He felt disconnected from his own body at the gravity of what he was doing. “You’ll cover us.”

“No way!” Goyle snarled. “We aren’t going to let you take all the credit.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I won’t. I’m going to control him from under it and as long as you keep pace and follow all of the way out of the castle, we shouldn’t get separated.” He actually hoped that they would be separated, but that was beside the point. “Quick. His friends will be around soon.”

Draco tossed the cloak over him and Potter, standing behind his captive with his wand aimed at the back of his head. He cast the Imperius Curse before removing the immobilizing hex and swallowed. He could feel Potter fighting the Unforgivable curse, and doing well in the attempt, but now that Draco was reunited with his true wand, he came out stronger. Unprepared and out of his league, he made a choice.

“Walk,” Draco ordered.

Throughout the long march out of the castle to meet Voldemort, Draco had kept his entire concentration on maintaining the Imperius Curse. He had barely noticed Crabbe and Goyle flinging curses left and right at the combatants, who had no idea Potter was walking to his doom right before them. Draco’s goals were so sharpy clear in his mind’s eye that nothing around him mattered. It was for Valeria. That was all. This was for Valeria. He repeated it in his head like a mantra. Draco felt Potter fighting his magical hold with each moment and with each step closer, Draco’s determination only grew, as did the pounding of his heart.

Valeria made it to the Room of Requirement. She had to check. There was no sign of Draco anywhere else. Perhaps he was hiding. If so, the Room of Hidden Things would be the best place to do so. She managed to get in and before she had a chance to call out for Draco, she heard voices ahead and tightened her grasp on her wand.

“Oh, God, Ron. Where is he?!”

It was Hermione.

“Maybe he found the diadem already—” Ron said, his voice echoing off the walls. They were getting closer.

“He would have called out for us. HARRY!” Hermione cried. They came into view around a corner made from a pillar of precariously stacked random objects and stopped dead at seeing Valeria. “Valeria, have you seen Harry?”

“No, I’ve only just come in. Have you seen Draco?”

“No,” Ron said with a sneer.

“But we heard voices though. Maybe Harry’s been captured. Malfoy knows about this place…”

“I thought maybe he was hiding in here,” Valeria said.

Ron ran his hand through his hair. “What do we do? The diadem or look for Harry?”

Whilst those three reluctant allies debated, Draco had made it out of the castle with Potter, doing so quicker than he anticipated using a series of short cuts he had memorized while avoiding getting caught going to and from the Room of Requirement all the previous year during the late hours of the night. Crabbe and Goyle were several paces behind him, still doing their job as Draco ordered, but having lost track of Draco some.

It was the longest and shortest walk Draco had endured. He was forced to look at Potter though everything in him wanted to look away for shame. The boy he hated. The boy who nearly slaughtered him in a bathroom. The boy who ruined everything. The boy he had saved in Malfoy Manor. The boy he had entrusted with Valeria’s safety, given no other choice than to watch her die.

Potter didn’t deserve this. He knew Potter didn’t deserve this.

None of them did.

But this was the only way to ensure Valeria’s life. Draco did not like the odds of Potter coming out of this alive anyway. The war was won, but Valeria’s safety had yet to be guaranteed. Potter had not gotten her to distant safety like he had hoped. This was Draco’s only choice.

The sounds of battle and the stench of new death faded in the distance, muffled by the forest fence as Draco marched Harry forward. Draco made his presence known vocally to Crabbe and Goyle so they could catch up to him and they eagerly approached to flank him, practically giddy with excitement. Draco didn’t hear what they said. He had to keep Potter, who still fought him with all his might, subdued.

A clearing. Draco could see in the short distance of the night shadowy figures crowded in the dark. Voldemort paced while some of the highest-ranking Death Eaters stood stony to their spots. The obnoxious voices of Crabbe and Goyle approaching made them all stop and look up.

“Who goes there? Make yourselves known!” The Dark Lord ordered.

“Vincent Crabbe!”

“Gregory Goyle, m’Lord!”

“And Draco’s here too!” Crabbe clarified. Draco stopped in the clearing, a fair enough distance from Voldemort. He was almost as petrified as Harry magically was. He had to stop as the nausea threatened to overwhelm him into vomiting. Before Voldemort could ask for clarification, Draco took one final deep breath. There was no going back.

He tore the invisibility cloak off of him and Potter, revealing themselves. The Death Eaters behind Voldemort gasped or whispered. His mother was there. Draco met her gaze and though her expression was stony, he could see the terror in her eyes. Draco met the stunned gaze of his father, who he could not bear to look at. The Dark Lord’s menacing red eyes lit up as though he were a child opening his most desired Christmas gift. 

“Draco...so this why you did not come to join us.” Voldemort said greedily smiling with a most predatory smile that made Draco sick. “I’m shocked, that is to say, pleasantly surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Draco swallowed, not knowing what to say. He had to proceed with the utmost caution. He could not come this far and fail. Fortunately, perhaps unfortunately, Crabbe who was in absolute awe of the Dark Lord, opened his mouth.

“And we helped, my Lord,” Crabbe said getting on a knee in veneration. Voldemort chuckled, if such a thing could be described in such a way. The sound made Draco’s heart leap into his throat. 

“And trust you shall be rewarded,” Voldemort said. He turned to approach Draco. The Dark Lord stared into Potter’s eyes whilst Potter was powerless to act. “The Imperius Curse?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Draco answered, his voice nearly cracking.

“Well done, Draco. Well done. Your left arm.”

Draco, trying not to violently tremble, lifted his left arm, his right arm aching as it was still holding the wand aimed at Potter’s head. Draco felt the cold, dry touch of Voldemort’s bony finger as the mark on his arm burned and he tried not to visibly wince through the pain. At once, wispy clouds of black smoke descended from on high into the clearing taking the form of the other Death Eaters who had been fighting in the castle once they touched ground.

“My loyal friends!” Voldemort said triumphantly. “I am pleased to announce that Draco has delivered Harry Potter to me!” The Death Eaters cheered, some feigning excitement, others, like Bellatrix over the moon with genuine enthusiasm. “The boy who lived, delivered here to die.”

Voldemort took a few steps forward towards Potter and cried out at the top of his lungs, _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

Draco saw a bright green flash of light that he nearly mistook as being aimed at him but struck Potter instead. He took a step back as Potter’s body fell over with a hideous thud on the earth, nearly falling onto him. He lowered his aching right arm, trying not to hyperventilate as he stared down at Potter’s corpse. The others cheered.

“Draco…Check to be sure. Be sure that he’s dead.”

Draco tried not to audibly gulp and trembling, knelt on the earth. Wincing in the darkness, he slid his clammy hand down Potter’s chest, bending down close. Draco froze as he felt a heartbeat under Potter’s ribs.

And Harry Potter, barely above a whisper, so quiet that only Draco could hear, said the words that would haunt Draco for the rest of his natural life.

“Draco…You’re making a mistake.”

Draco could not help it. It was instinct. He jumped back in shock, clumsily scuttling away from Potter on the cold, uneven earth. Potter had done it again. He survived. Draco had seen it. He looked up at Voldemort, red eyes glistening in the moonlight. Valeria. It was for Valeria. A simple trade. That was all this was.

“Alive,” Draco said through a lump in his throat.

The Dark Lord cried out in rage and Draco darted out of the way. He saw Potter move, trying to get to his feet, only to be knocked down by another killing curse. And then several more. Voldemort toyed with the body, flinging it against trees and the ground, battering it over and over all whilst shouting his victory cries. He called Draco forward again, who could barely move for how much he shivered in fear, to determine whether Potter was alive once more. Draco obeyed, repeating what he had done just before.

No heartbeat. He held his hand above Potter’s mouth and nose for a moment. No breath. He peered down at Potter’s eyes, open and lifeless, a single tear still dripping down the side of his battered face.

“Dead,” Draco muttered.

A round of applause and a short-lived celebration of victory followed. Draco could not take a full breath in. On the verge of panic. His parents rushed to him, speaking to him words of pride or comfort, but Draco didn’t hear them. After a moment, he took a nervous step forward.

“My Lord…?” Draco asked quietly.

“Draco, yes. In all the excitement I nearly forgot you. What is it?”

Draco knew he had to speak more carefully than he ever had. “Please forgive me, but I’m afraid my matter is urgent. A reward was promised, and as I know you to be an honorable and generous Lord, I humbly ask that I may request it now.” There was a stunned silence and Draco tried to not look at the Dark Lord.

“Normally, such audacity would offend me, Draco. But you speak true. You have delivered me my rightful victory. For this, you may ask whatever you wish, and it shall be yours.”

“I ask only for a full and complete pardon for my wife, Valeria, and that my aunt make with me an Unbreakable Vow to do her no harm for the rest of their lives,” Draco said. The next moments were to be the most agonizing and uncertain of his life so far.

“What?!” Bellatrix snarled behind the Dark Lord.

“Silence, Bella!” Voldemort ordered. The Dark Lord lingered his gaze on Draco, as if studying him. This was it. This was what he had delivered Potter for. Without this, Draco wanted nothing more than to die.

“I shall forgive her in honor of your heroism this night, Draco,” he said. Draco let out a quiet exhale of relief. “Bella, come forward.” She did not budge. “Now, Bella!” She obeyed that time. “Both of you, here on your knees. I shall be your bonder. Severus, go into the castle. Find the girl and reconvene with us outside the castle.”

Draco hadn’t noticed Snape yet, but met his professor’s eyes. There was something off. A disbelief, a resentment, a fear. Draco could not tell. All he knew was relief that Voldemort was to be the bonder, as he knew his aunt would have listened to no one else. The aunt and nephew knelt before each other and Bellatrix stared daggers at Draco. He had nothing but hatred to stare back with as he steeled what was left of his resolve. He extended his right arm and she reluctantly did the same, grasping his. The Dark Lord’s wand touched where their arms joined. “State your terms, Draco.”

“Will you, Bellatrix, refrain from harming my wife, Valeria in any way shape or form, magical or otherwise, unless explicitly ordered by the Dark Lord alone so long as you both shall live?” he asked.

“I will,” she said with spite dripping from her tone. A wisp of bright flame lit up the area around them as it snaked around their hands.

“Will you never order, persuade, or manipulate another, directly or indirectly, to harm her, magically or otherwise, unless explicitly ordered by the Dark Lord, so long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

A second flame wound itself around their arms.

“And will you refrain from insulting or mocking her father, brother and family name so long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

A third and final flame twisted itself with the others.

“This is all I ask,” Draco said. Without a word, Voldemort waved his wand and the flames grew brighter, tightening around the bonded grasps until suddenly disappearing.

It was done. Valeria was safe.

Valeria had been arguing with Ron and Hermione. She insisted on finding Draco. She was running around the Room of Hidden Things trying to find him, calling out for him. Where else would he have gone? She had already been to the common room. Unless he was in a classroom hiding perchance. Her heart dropped at the possibly of him fighting out there…

“At least help us look for this damn thing!” Ron called out.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for Potter?” Valeria called back.

“We have to find the diadem first! Wait. There! I see it—” 

A great, booming voice cut Hermione's sentence short and nearly brought Valeria to her knees.

_“Harry Potter is dead. Delivered by my loyal and faithful servant. We approach with his body as proof your hero is gone. The battle is won. You are outnumbered and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”_

A cry. A wail. Piercing an agonizing followed from Hermione. It was a sound Valeria knew all too well. She rushed towards the sound to find Ron holding her, his face white and his shoulders shaking as he struggled to hold her up. Valeria was frozen. All of this; Draco’s sacrifice to get her out of Malfoy Manor, her aiding them all those weeks, even now, all in vain. She should have known. She grieved in stunned horror a hope she did not even know she had.

“Y—You have to go,” she said. Ron looked at her, tears in his eyes and violently shook his head.

“Not…No…Harry!” he cried out. Hermione wailed again, trembling. Valeria saw an ornate crown in her hand.

“They’ll kill you,” Valeria said.

“I don’t care!” Ron yelled.

“We’re not leaving! Not without Harry! There’s no way out anyway!” Hermione said. That was a problem. The castle was impossible to depart from and they would be easily caught if they tried. She wracked her brain. There was no more time to mourn. She was a dead woman walking anyway. There was no point in mourning. She peered around the room. Perhaps she could will an escape route. She tried to, but the room did not change. At the peak of frustration, she remembered. It didn’t have to change. There was one already here.

“Come with me. There’s a way out. The vanishing cabinet. It will take you to Borgin and Burke’s. It’s your only chance,” Valeria said quickly, her breath trying to keep up with the panicked pounding of her heart.

“No!” Ron said. “We’re going to destroy this and get Harry and my family and—”

It was clear they would not budge. Damn Gryffindors and the death wishes they deemed heroism. Swiftly and urgently, Valeria waved her wand and cast the Imperius Curse. They both stopped and immediately calmed. She was shocked that she managed a powerful enough curse to control both of them, but in their shock, their minds were weak.

She ordered them to follow her. The room was a maze, but she spent enough time in it with Draco last year to remember the general location of the cabinet and find it she did, with relief. She swung it open and ordered them inside, which they obeyed. Valeria had half a mind to step in with them, it was large enough for one more to just barely squeeze in, but she stopped herself. Not without Draco. Bellatrix would hunt her down anyway. At least she could die knowing he was alive. That would have to be enough.

Valeria took the crown from Hermione and clumsily shoved into the little purse on Hermione’s person. She slammed the door shut on both of them. She had half a mind to find other innocents, maybe help them escape too before they tried anything stupid in front of the Dark Lord. But she knew the Imperius Curse might not hold at such a great distance, as she hadn’t attempted one so powerful before and she had spent enough time with Ron and Hermione to know they would try to immediately return once her hold on them was broken.

She opened the door again to make sure they were gone. She shut it and then with a fierce flick of her wand blasted the cabinet apart, turning her face away as it shattered, and the pieces scattered all around her. Perhaps this deed was enough to save her soul. Perhaps not. Either way, she was sure to find out within the hour as death waited impatiently for her.

She turned and walked away, shaking the dust of her destruction out of her hair and made for the exit back into the castle to only find an empty corridor. The door to the Room of Requirement disappeared behind her and she took a tentative step forward down the eerie hall, her shoes softly clacking in an echo on the stone floor. She was on her own death march. She made it a few floors down in the solemn silence when a voice behind her nearly stopped her heart.

“Miss Winters.”

She turned, shocked to hear her maiden name. Snape stood there more emotional than she had ever seen him, which wasn’t much. It was in his eyes, wild with a frantic sort of grief that she shared. He rushed to her and grabbed her hard by the arm.

“I know what you did, Professor,” she said, stunning him again. “My memories…Granger reconstructed them…I know that you tampered with them, I don’t why. I know about the Horcruxes—”

His grip tightened. “Silence,” he said with a hiss.

“Is it true? Is Potter dead?”

“He is.”

Her breath hitched and she panted once more, the realization dawning on her even more like a great wave had struck her. Snape shook her.

“Your safety has been guaranteed,” he said, sounding almost regretful, about what she did not know for certain. “But not if you know what you know. Quickly.”

He dragged her into a nearby classroom and slammed the door as he nearly tossed her into the room. She caught herself as she tripped from the force of his release as he cast charms all over the entrance to the room and then rushed to her again, forcing her into a chair.

“This will not be pleasant, but it is your only chance,” he said, removing his wand and aiming it between her eyes. Suddenly, without further warning, Snape invaded her mind, carefully combing through her memories with efficient urgency.

She saw her brother, Konstantin’s, posthumous confession via his last will and testament and her promising to help the Order, including her aid of the trio back in August. Then it was gone. She saw the first time Snape had tampered with her memories while briefly a prisoner in Malfoy Manor after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Then it was gone. He went through everything. All the times she went easy on other students during the school year. Then they were gone. She saw her private life with Draco, revealed to Snape in a most humiliating fashion. He left that alone. He saw her time at Shell Cottage after Draco had forced her to escape Malfoy Manor with Potter after she nearly murdered Bellatrix Lestrange. He carefully reworked them, forcing her to believe that Potter had kidnapped her for a prisoner, that he had forced her to aid his efforts, that he had used the Imperius Curse on her to do their bidding. He carefully removed any aid and acts of sympathy she had done prior and during the beginning of the battle. He erased the memory of what she had just done to Ron and Hermione, forcing their escape.

Finally, he took out any and all memories of Horcruxes. He removed himself from her mind, interrogating her with careful wording to be certain of his efforts. She knew nothing. She remembered nothing. She was Mrs. Valeria Malfoy, a victim of the Order of the Phoenix who simply wanted to be safely reunited with her husband. That was good enough.

The silence at the entrance of the castle had been forced by Voldemort, that much was clear. Potter’s body lay limp and lifeless at the Dark Lord’s feet. The sight of the Dark Lord struck fear into Valeria’s heart once more as Snape kept a firm grip on her arm, escorting her to the front of the crowd. She saw Ginny, Neville, Luna, all the rest. Her fellow Slytherin friends had wisely not stuck around. Slughorn looked at her with sympathy, as did a weeping McGonagall. Ginny looked like she was about to explode with grief and rage.

“Ah, excellent Severus, thank you. Bring her forward,” the Dark Lord said. Snape obliged and Valeria had no choice but to follow. She stood between the crowd of resistance fighters and Voldemort as he stared at her, his inhuman mouth forming into a menacing smile. “Oh, the poor thing is terrified. Mrs. Malfoy, you have nothing to fear. Thanks to the heroic actions of your husband, all is forgiven, for I am a merciful Lord. Draco, she looks unwell, perhaps it’s best you take her home and return right after to finish business here.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

She turned her gaze toward the voice and for the first time since the Easter recess saw Draco again, alive. Relief swept over her and had she the emotional and physical strength, she would have rushed to him. But something was wrong. His gaze was dark, his face as white as a ghost. He approached and grabbed her other arm, much gentler than Snape, and the latter released her. Draco immediately swept his other arm around her and escorted her across the stone and through the crowd of Death Eaters, seeing Bellatrix stare at her with disgust, which frightened her once more.

Once far enough away, Draco removed his wand, and she felt the familiar discomfort of side-along apparation. She felt like she was going to vomit when it suddenly stopped, and she got her footing in their chamber at Malfoy Manor. Before she could do or say anything in her distressed confusion, Draco rushed her, taking he sides of her face hard in his hands and pressing his body against hers.

“Why did you come back?!” he hissed. “I told you not to come back. How could you be so damn stupid?!”

“I—I…What’s happen—”

But he crashed her lips onto hers, an angry kiss. One full of fear, grief, passion and rage. She was so relieved to see him again that she could not help but give into him. He was the only thing that was safe in this world now. He pulled back and looked at her. There were tears in his bloodshot eyes and his face was twisted in disgust and frenzy. It frightened her.

“You’re safe now. I made sure…Valeria, you have to know…I did it for you—” he lurched forward with a heave and then shoved her away, darting to the balcony. He hung his head over the edge of the railing and wretched. She rushed to him and he flinched at her touch. Once he recovered enough, he looked at her and she began to cry too, confused and overwhelmed, wanting nothing for him but relief. He grabbed her again and brought her into the room, sitting her down on the bed and placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

“I have to go,” he said, nearly choking on his words. “Don’t leave this room. Don’t you dare even think about it. Do you understand me!?” She nodded vigorously as she trembled. He stunk of sweat, death and vomit. He looked into her eyes fiercely before squeezing her shoulders and releasing her, as if it pained him to part with her.

“Draco,” she asked, in a raspy voice resulting from her dry throat. He turned. “What have you done?”

His head lurched forward a little as he gulped, as if he were swallowing vomit, and he turned away.

With a pop, he was gone.


	2. The Death Eater's Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of death and violence. Blood. Psychological trauma. Minor character death. Foul language.

** Two Years Later **

It was a time that wizarding history would one day dub the Dark Age. It was an apt name, a succinct summation of what the period after Voldemort’s victory truly was. Yet somehow it was far too broad, unable to fully encompass the extent of suffering and the overwhelming vastness of horror that thus defined the time.

The term, the title, was useful but insufficient. Perfect, but empty. Correct but dysfunctional.

Much like Valeria Malfoy herself.

There were two rules to being Draco Malfoy's wife.

  1. Don’t do anything stupid.
  2. Never mention the name _Harry Potter_.



Other than that, Valeria was able to do whatsoever she wished so long as she complied with the standards and laws set forth by the Dark Lord and the Ministry he controlled. Life under the Dark Lord’s regime was surprisingly less chaotic than she had once anticipated a couple years ago. Perhaps it was her status. Perhaps it was her emptiness. Perhaps she has seen too many horrors to pay mind to the ones to come. Either way, attending this routine execution today was more of an inconvenience than a horror show so far. As her husband was the executioner, Valeria had a special place of honor. She had prime seating to bear witness to atrocities.

The Death Eaters and their lower ranked comrades were, according to Draco, always rowdy at executions. That was, until the Death Eaters’ wives arrived, and they became instant gentlemen, masters of proper decorum, at their appearance. Valeria wasn’t sure when the tradition developed, but she always sat in the front for these events. She had learned to watch in elegant silence as men and women were tormented and murdered before her as if she were looking at a dull, mediocre landscape painting.

How could she have survived this long otherwise?

“Pansy’s here,” Daphne Zabini, nee Greengrass, said as she sat by Valeria. Valeria had her eyes straight ahead at the platform and hadn’t even noticed her closest friend taking a seat beside her. Valeria peered across the aisle, seeing her old classmate Pansy, dressed in similar fashion to the other wives, wringing her hands in her lap, looking at the ground. Pansy hardly ever attended these events.

“Wonder why,” Valeria said to Daphne. Her friend leaned over to whisper.

“Word has it that Goyle’s trotting her out to prove she’s still alive,” Daphne said.

Valeria envied Daphne’s ability to engage in idle gossip and collect rumors from the across the high ranks of elite society, but she blamed that fact on the latter’s marriage to Blaise, who even in these times, remained a charmer with a serpentine ability to slither into any circle to collect information. He had been a great asset as the Dark Lord rebuilt the world, even earning himself a Dark Mark.

Valeria turned to face forward feeling the thick fabric of her robes rub a little on her neck as she did. Her garments were up to her chin, down to her ankles and her sleeves stopped at the top of her wrists. Dark and plain as always, while varied in color, all the Death Eaters’ wives wore similar style of convent appropriate attire, keeping with the fashions of the times. Valeria had not publicly let her hair down in years.

Each wife of a Death Eater wore a subtly elegant boutonniere of belladonna flowers pinned to their clothes over their hearts. Deadly nightshade. A flower whose name meant _beautiful lady_ , but which was inherently toxic. It was intended as flattery. Valeria felt her heart shrivel and rot beneath it. It was insult.

“Have you spoken to her recently?” Valeria asked. Daphne shook her head.

“Not since exchanging Christmas cards,” Daphne said, in a tone mocking the empty annual holiday gesture zapped long ago of all hope and life. “Perhaps today’s the day she’ll break her silence with you.”

Valeria nearly scoffed at that. She highly doubted Pansy would ever speak to her on her own accord ever again. But before she could respond, one of the Snatchers took their place in front followed by Draco and two more Death Eaters who flanked him. Draco wore his mask, and the hood of his black robes was up. Not an inch of skin, not one identifying feature of him was visible, but Valeria would know him in form and the way he carried himself anywhere. Two hooded victims were marched up the center aisle and pushed to their knees on the stage. The Snatcher, whose name Valeria never cared to learn, cleared his throat as if he were a glorified town crier.

This was the part where Valeria pretended to be somewhere else. It was a skill she had become quite adept at. The Snatcher read the names aloud, Valeria never wanted to know their names, but she didn’t recognize them anyway. Apparently, their crime had been harboring muggleborns and helping them out of Britain.

“For this they have been sentenced to death. Any last words?” the Snatcher asked, rolling up the parchment.

“FOR HARRY POTTER!” the first cried from under their hood.

“LONG MAY HIS MEMORY LIVE!” cried the second.

Draco turned, knowing his cue, and with a sweeping slashing motion cast a spell at the first who immediately doubled over as long bloody gashed materialized all over him. Valeria knew the spell. Snape told her about it. The same Potter used on Draco in that bathroom sixth year. Draco did the same to the second victim and the platform’s wood was quickly dyed red with blood as the victims bled out. She was in for a rough night. Draco hated using curses that weren’t the Killing Curse if he was ordered too. So much so that he had been bestowed the moniker _Malfoy the Merciful_ , though this was a tongue-in-cheek nickname. He would not recover quickly from this.

Valeria expected that to be the end of it. She waited for the official dismissal when a scream behind broke the silence. She turned, seeing an additional pair of male Death Eaters rushing forward with another hooded prisoner, also male. Valeria was shocked when behind them she saw Luna Lovegood, the first she’d seen of her since the Battle of Hogwarts, held firm by two other masked Death Eaters, struggling against their grasp, wailing. She turned sharply to Draco, who turned to her and then back to Luna.

Luna broke free and rushed up the center aisle but was stopped by a hex that knocked her to the ground, right beside Valeria. Her captors grabbed her, and she struggled once more. Draco stepped down and up to one of her holders.

“Silence her. She’s upsetting my wife,” Valeria heard him say. With a stiff nodded the Death Eater followed the order and stifled Luna’s voice with a wave of his wand. The third victim was shoved to his need and the Snatcher swiftly removed his hood; Xenophilius Lovegood.

Before Valeria could process the sight, a frigid chill overwhelmed the spring air and above them descended a pair of dementors. Valeria felt none of the other effects of a dementor’s presence, that of being unable to feel joy ever again, for that was her normal. She felt only the chill.

“For the crime of writing, publishing and distributing dissident materials in an illegal magazine, Xenophilius Lovegood has been sentenced to suffer the Dementor’s Kiss,” the Snatcher announced. Luna wailed again. Draco raised his wand to the air, giving the dementors the signal and they descended on Lovegood.

It was worse than the others. It was unbearable, even for Valeria, even after the past two years. She stiffened in her chair and no matter where she looked without blatantly turning her head, the horror was always on her periphery, impossible to avoid. In the corner of her eye, she saw Luna, red faced, trying to scream.

When it was finished, Draco banished the dementors with another wave and the air returned to its previous state.

“For loving muggles so much, you can be forgotten like one,” the Snatcher said. The Death Eaters who had held Lovegood carried him off and magically secured him to a post. Luna was dragged away. The Snatcher dismissed the audience with a cheerful tone, as if they had just watched a children’s puppet show. Draco quickly rushed down and took Valeria by the arm and ushered her away from the site nearby. She could feel his hand trembling on her arm. Once far enough away, officially off-duty, he removed his mask. His face was lifeless. She would have brewed him something stronger if she knew it was going to be this.

His demeanor changed instantly when Blaise called out his name. He approached with Daphne, his wife.

“They could have given us a warning,” Blaise said.

“Sudden change in the schedule,” Draco said. “They wanted his daughter to see it.” He couldn’t even say her name.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Valeria asked.

“Back to Azkaban for the moment. Not sure otherwise,” Draco said. Before Daphne could speak, another couple approached.

“Friends!” A booming, merry voice greeted the group. Valeria turned, dismayed but not expressing it, to see Gregory Goyle approach with Pansy tentatively behind him, looking at the ground. Goyle shook Draco’s hand firmly. “Quite a show, Malfoy”

“All in a day’s work,” Draco drawled, thoroughly unimpressed with the atrocity he has just committed. He had become an excellent actor over the years, but Goyle was easy to fool.

“Pansy,” Goyle said, though it was more of an impatient demand. Pansy gave them a soft “Hello” in greeting. Valeria saw, but did not react to Goyle nudging Pansy with his elbow. “Perhaps you’d like to share our news.”

“I’m not sure that it’s appropriate...” Pansy said softly. Goyle put his arm around his wife and Valeria watched his knuckles squeeze down on her shoulder. He laughed, though Valeria sensed he was laughing at Pansy rather than with her.

“She’s just being shy, silly thing,” he said.

“Out with it,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

Pansy swallowed. “We’re expecting.” Her voice was barely audible. The other couple feigned excitement. This was good news. There hadn’t yet been many children born from old pureblood lineages after the war. Rebuilding the world in Voldemort’s image had taken priority after all. However, they, particularly the women present, felt pity for Pansy.

Valeria mingled with the other attendees, often on Draco’s arm. He hated this. Later that night, he’d vomit in the bathroom of their chambers and she’d massage his shoulders while he drank after he cleaned up. They’d hold each other after until he fell asleep, though he was likely to awaken several times before morning. It was their own ritual. It was the only thing that kept Draco from losing himself. It was therefore her duty now to be his strength until they got home. Falling apart was a luxury.

Pansy sat alone as the crowd dwindled. Goyle claimed she simply wanted to sit due to her condition, but Valeria knew better. Valeria always felt bad, somewhere deep and hidden away, for what she did to Pansy. She had tried to explain. There was nothing she could have done to prevent it; any action would have risked more lives than hers. The most she could do was approach her now. Maybe there was something she could say, but any words of help fled as she stopped near Pansy.

“I hope it’s a boy. For your sake,” Valeria hadn’t meant the well-wish to sound so insulting, so degrading, but realized it after she had said it. Before she could walk back the comment, Pansy turned sharply to her with more fire in her eyes than Valeria had seen since she and the former outspoken spitfire were classmates.

“Cunt.”

Valeria did not react. She merely stated back in quiet defiance to the death-look Pansy was staring into her.

“You’re always invited for tea on Tuesdays at Malfoy Manor. Do let me or the other ladies know if we can be of any help or support.” Valeria said.

“Go. Away,” Pansy whispered. The two women merely looked at each other. Valeria, only in her thoughts, begged Pansy to be nice. To come around. To fall in line. Not for Valeria’s sake but for Pansy herself. Pansy’s eyes darted around and, when she saw the coast was clear, spit on the ground near Valeria’s shoes. Pansy turned around once more without another word.

The water stopped in the bathroom and Valeria knew Draco was finished cleaning himself up. She stood instinctively from the sofa in the main room of their chambers in Malfoy Manor as he came out. Without a word, he sat down on a plush foot stool near a matching armchair and she set to work kneading his shoulders and upper back with her hands. This private ritual of theirs wasn’t ordered of her, rather an accidental routine they fell into over time. She wanted to do it. She needed to do it. She needed to remind herself that she was still himself. She could see his reflection in the mirror across the room, his hair in his face as he hung his head forward. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and, in the mirror, as on his back, she could see plainly the scars of the old _Sectumsempra_ curse he himself had once suffered at Harry Potter’s accidental hand.

“Surreal isn’t it? Pansy and Goyle having a baby?” Valeria said absentmindedly. Draco responded better to idle chatter after carrying out orders. He appreciated distraction.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Draco said the quietly. His mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less about Pansy’s pregnancy. Valeria inhaled, pressing her knuckles into the tight muscle of his back. The news of Pansy’s pregnancy had struck her hard with an old fear. It was the wrong time to address it, but then again, there was never a right time anymore.

“How long before it’s our turn?” she asked gently. With the quick agility of a soldier, Draco turned sharply and grabbed Valeria’s wrist hard enough to stop her but not enough to cause physical harm. Valeria didn’t even flinch.

“Don’t,” he said.

“You don’t think everyone’s thinking it?” she asked.

He scoffed as he released her, turning around and letting her get back to work on his back. “Listening to Daphne’s rumors again? I told you most of what she says is likely bullshit. I’m in meetings every damn day, never has anyone asked about it. If it were important, it would have been brought up to me.”

“Maybe. But with Pansy...I just. I feel odd about it.”

“You need to let it go.”

“I handed her over to Goyle on a silver platter.”

“If I recall correctly, you tried to stop it.”

“Not that hard.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do. Goyle voiced his reward and it was a decision made above all our ranks.” He swallowed as if he were about to be sick again. “He earned his prize. It’s a shame she was what he wanted.”

Valeria dropped her hands from his shoulders abruptly. “Is that what I am to you too? Your prize?”

Draco sighed and stood from his seat, looming over her as he cupped his face in his hands. The coolness of his skin sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and her heart beat a little harder. She craved this from him often. Only he could bring her back to life in the dead of night.

“That was different. You know that was different.”

Draco and Valeria possessed a privilege that was unique amongst the pureblood marriages; they loved each other. Not in the same way they once did, not in the way they should, but the love remained steadfast. There were a couple other exceptions, perhaps, but their dedication came from somewhere, some sort of necessity, some lesser evil, even if the love was true. They also reserved the honor of being the only marriage arranged by the Dark Lord himself.

The rest, of her peers anyway, save for the more unique case of Pansy and Goyle, had been arranged by Valeria.

Valeria put her hands on Draco’s arms he gently traced his thumbs on her cheeks. He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers.

“You are all my good in this world. How many times do I have to say it until you believe me?” he whispered. He expressed that sentiment each day. It was as though he needed to say it just as much as she needed to hear it. Maybe someday she could believe it was truth.

“You know talk will start. We’ve been married the longest.” It had been one of the few fears Draco had left, producing offspring. So much of him had turned to stone, but this was a subject that made him come alive in terror like a cornered creature.

“Goyle might treat Pansy like his broodmare but I will not stoop to...I’ve sunk low enough.”

“It’s about survival. Maintaining our position. Isn’t that why we’ve done everything we’ve done? That’s what you said isn’t it? That’s why you handed over Potter just as I handed over Pans—”

Valeria shouldn’t have said that. Draco dropped his hands quickly, snapping them away and stepped back. He kept his face close to hers.

“Never. Say. That. Name,” he hissed. Valeria didn’t fear him. He let his rage out elsewhere, never at her as that was one of the few rules he held himself to religiously.

“The point still stands Draco,” she hissed back. “Name or not, we agreed. We maintain our position and producing an heir is part of the deal.”

The old Valeria, the girl who died five years ago, would have held her hand to her mouth in scandalized horror at what the present Valeria said. This was a child, not a commodity. Yet she spoke with such clinical cunning that this hypothetical child could have been any sort of old object. Draco grabbed her by the upper arms. Again, not nearly hard enough to cause injury but enough to hold her in place.

“Over my dead body,” he whispered in her ear, his mouth so close that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. She reached her arms around him and held him close.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered back.

He ran his hand up behind her neck, fingers gently cradling where the bottom of her skull met her neck. He leaned down hard and kissed her. Then he missed her more. Then more. After a few seconds his arms were around her, pulling her entire body to him. He stopped. “Then don’t say another word about heirs and offspring.”

“You do know what we’re doing, in theory, leads to, right?”

Draco pulled out the main pins holding her hair up and tossed them on the floor. He always liked her hair down.

“Not this time.”

Valeria was busy at work the next day whilst Draco was out. Within Malfoy Manor, Valeria had constructed a proper potions laboratory to pursue as a hobby. The one freedom allowed in Voldemort’s new regime was free exploration of the Dark Arts and Valeria partook in such enterprises at first driven by intellectual curiosity, but after working with Snape to assist him in some potions matters, word had gotten back to the Dark Lord that she was rather gifted in the subject. He shortly thereafter made her Snape’s apprentice, and she was subsequently tasked with crafting potions for the Death Eaters often enough to keep her busy and distracted.

She enjoyed the process. She enjoyed the mystery of the Dark Arts, the forbidden beauty. It was probably the best part of having the privileged life her status offered her as her other duties, rather expectations, were much more confining. Though she never liked to think long on what her concoctions would be used for. 

“Mistress?” The house elf, Tinky squeaked upon entering the room. “Mr. Snape is here to see you.”

She sighed. “Send him in.”

Learning from Snape outside of Hogwarts had been intellectually rewarding. He was even more brilliant than she knew him to be as a formal student. Though every so often while they worked together, she would catch him looking at her in a curious way. She sensed he was trying to keep an eye on her, though for what reason she hadn’t the faintest idea.

“It is against accepted wisdom to have too many cauldrons brewing at once,” Snape said, entering the laboratory and noticing four cauldrons going on the stations. “One runs the risk of getting sloppy.”

“Not me,” she said.

“Arrogance is the Achilles’ heel of the Potion Master.”

“Is mine not earned?”

He furrowed his brow at her. “No, it is not. You have much to learn if you want to achieve true mastery.” Valeria didn’t respond. She was tired and wasn’t interested in a lecture today. It had indeed been a rougher night than usual with Draco as she had predicted. He had tossed and turned violently all night once he eventually managed to catch some sleep. “That one’s new. What is it?”

“Tranquila Sensus,” Valeria said. “Dulls emotions, makes the drinker largely apathetic. I’m trying to strengthen it.” She gestured to the open book on the table beside the cauldron, one of her most prized possessions, _The Mystery and Majesty of the Dark Arts_. It had been her brother’s and she had it for several years by now. She used it so much the binding was starting to become brittle.

“Why?” Snape asked, taking the book and reading the entry on the Traquila Sesnus potion.

“The base recipe is for everyday life. I want something stronger for less everyday lives.”

Snape considered. “How are you enhancing it?”

“I’m trying dove’s blood.”

“Tempermental ingredient.”

“You don’t need to remind me. This is the fourth batch of I’ve tried.”

“You’re determined,” he said.

“That surprise you?” she asked, peering into the murky liquid bubbling away in the cauldron. Snape didn’t respond immediately.

“Is this what you’ve been giving Draco?” he asked quietly. She stopped, frozen for a moment. She didn’t completely trust Snape no matter how much she wanted to. It was dangerous business to trust almost anyone.

“What makes you think that?”

“Do not play the fool with me,” he said, voice low. “As…aggressive as your husband could be in his youth, I never knew him to have a talent for the extreme. I would imagine something like this would aid him well in carrying out his assignments.”

The most aggravating thing about Snape was his uncannily correct intuition, likely a result of knowing both her and Draco so long. He had guessed true. Valeria had first made the potion sixth year after months of being tormented by nightmares of her brother’s death and the mounting fear over Draco’s situation, which he at the time refused to fully disclose to her. She had wanted some relief, to not feel like her mind was unraveling for a little while.

The Dark Lord trusted Draco almost completely after the latter had delivered Harry Potter and therefore assigned him to tasks of brutality to the point Draco could barely function. He ran the risk of cracking and therefore incurring the Dark Lord’s wrath. The pact they made sixth year, keep each other alive at any cost and by any means, was the lifeblood of their bond and Valeria had no choice but to act.

The potions had not prevented Draco’s internal anguish. It did not stop the nightmares nor inhibit the memories of the blood on his hands, but at least, while in the act, his mind would be clearer. It was easier to be a monster.

“There’s no law against it, is there?” she asked, choosing her words carefully.

“No. In fact, I must admit it’s a bit inspired. Quite a useful idea, indeed,” Snape said. Valeria didn’t like his tone, something about it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “As fascinating as this is, Valeria, there’s unfortunately another matter I need to ask you about.”

“What now?”

“Unicorn blood,” Snape began, ever to the point. “I’ve received a report that three vials have gone missing. Before a full investigation is launched, I must ask…”

Unicorn blood was outright outlawed prior to Voldemort’s victory and the substance so tightly controlled that even the purveyors of the darkest sort of magical material did not not carry it. While more used in the New Order, it was still so tightly controlled that even a half of a drop going missing was a serious offense. The substance was so dangerous, so tricky to work with, that Valeria would never dare to touch it.

“You offend me, Professor,” she said.

“Your ambitions in potion-craft alerted me to the possibility. I have to ask, for your own sake. You admitted to arrogance yourself,” he said.

“Search my stores. Search my mind. I swear on it all that it wasn’t me,” she said. Snape stared her down for a moment, directly into her eyes.

“I believe you. I just had to be sure. I must ask that if you hear anything to report it to me at once.”

“You have my word.”

Draco sent word he would not be home for dinner, which gave her the opportunity to leave the Manor in secret without anyone asking any curious questions. As the evening darkened, she set out with her hood up and apparated to the site of the executions she had recently bore witness to. Snape had somehow convinced the Dark Lord in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts that executions should not be held in public, but rather be private and exclusive events per invitation only. The idea was that the public would fear what they did not see more than what they did and therefore respect the Dark Lord’s iron fist while it crushed them into submission. Public demonstrations of unprecedented cruelty would incite loose cannons into rage and possibly cause opinion to turn. The Dark Lord naturally did not care about opinions, unable to understand why the public would not immediately follow him, but the idea of striking easy fear into the hearts of wizards and witches everywhere made him figurately salivate.

Therefore, Valeria could be sure she would not be interrupted.

Through the foggy night she walked, shrouded by shadows. She took a hesitant on the stage, dark spots of blood still upon it which she avoided as she stepped forward. She saw the slumped figure of Xenophilius Lovegood magically confined to the post, his head hung limp. She put her wand to his head to awaken him and he shifted and groaned, struggling to lift his head to look at her.

“Do you want me to end this for you?” she asked.

The man’s lips moved, but only breathy, incomplete sounds escaped him. He was looking right at her but didn’t seem to see her at all. She sighed. It was hard not to see him as a man and she had to remind herself he was a simple husk now. An empty vessel where a man once lived. Though, breaking an empty vessel was less messy than breaking a full one.

“I’m sorry Luna had to see,” Valeria said. He mumbled nonsensical sounds. The wind blew and the smell of death and lifelessness, indescribable and yet completely familiar, swirled around her, seeping in through the threads of her robes and making her skin tighten and her spine straighten. She could see in the glistening moonlight a pendant hanging from his neck. She couldn’t tell if he was suffering. He hardly reacted to anything at all.

“I’m sorry, Lovegood,” she said in a flat tone. She didn’t know if she meant it as she took a step back and aimed her wand. She looked him in the eyes. She had to look him in the eyes, or this would mean nothing. “ _Avada Kedavra_.”

A flash of green light lit up the night like terrible lightning for a fraction of a second. Xenophilius’s body did not react to the curse save for his head slumping over just as it had been when she arrived. She approached and lifted his chin with her wand. His eyes didn’t look any less lifeless. She reached down to his neck and ripped the pendant from him, stashing it into her robes. She stepped back again and waved her wand above her head, then at Lovegood’s corpse.

“ _Corvi Provoco_.”

From thin air a murder of squawking crows descended on formation on Lovegood’s body and set to work making it appear he died of exposure to wild animals. Once the birds had finished with the eyes, she was satisfied her deed was sufficiently hidden and departed the site. No one would think to check. No one would care enough to.

Indeed, Valeria knew this as she had done similar before. Her first trophy was Potter himself. The Dark Lord had apparently set his corpse ablaze in the Great Hall after Draco had returned her to Malfoy Manor after the Battle of Hogwarts and his ashes rained down over his loved ones. She had returned the next day with Draco to collect her things from her dormitory. Draco waited outside, not strong enough to enter the castle himself and she alone walked the destruction of the once hallowed halls that were her second home. The draft had scattered Potter’s ashes across the Great Hall and with a vial from her potion kit, she carefully collected some of his remains. She couldn’t do right by all of it. It would have been too noticeable.

Draco had managed to keep hold of Potter’s old cloak and the Dark Lord had given him the golden snitch Potter had on his person when he was murdered. Draco wanted neither and Valeria stored all of Potter’s items, including what was left of his remains, in the nearly impenetrable cellar of the now nearly abandoned Winters estate.

She didn’t know why she kept these things. It didn’t make sense. Then again, very little in this world did anymore.

“Where’ve you been?” Draco asked, seated with a wine glass and a book, picking at his dinner in their own private dining room in their wing of Malfoy Manor.

“I took care of Lovegood,” she said. Draco sighed in frustration, pinching the skin between his brow.

“You shouldn’t keep doing stuff like that,” he said.

“Is anyone going to care?” she asked.

“That’s not the point. If you’re caught, questions will be asked which will be inconvenient for us both.”

“And then I’ll just say that I did it for my own pleasure. Anyone will buy that without question,” she said.

“Maybe. Deosn’t make it smart,” he said. “I thought you hated him. You always said he ruined your life with that damn magazine of his.”

It was true that her world began to crumble in fifth year when her father’s name was printed as a Death Eater present in the graveyard with Potter the night Voldemort returned in corporeal form. Again, when he published an article questioning her loyalty to the Dark Lord seventh year. She had always resented Lovegood for it.

“He suffered enough since then,” Valeria said.

“You did it for you, to make yourself feel better, not him,” Draco said, seeing right through her as he always did. He didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“Does it matter? The ends are the same,” Valeria said.


	3. Mrs. Pansy Goyle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Forced/Arranged marriage. Implied/referenced non-consensual intercourse. Implied forced pregnancy. Suicide. Description of death. Loss of pregnancy.

**One Year Earlier**

Everyone had a place in the Dark Lord’s new world. Those who did not were simply removed from it.

Valeria’s place was certain. She was the wife of the man who handed over Harry Potter, ensuring the Dark Lord’s victory, which gave her a position of privilege amongst those who did not bear the Dark Mark themselves. The mission, the private one that had been forged with Draco in the dark corridors of Hogwarts years ago was all she worked for; keep each other alive. Draco had learned from his father’s errors. He was not about to let himself or the people he loved be in such a predicament again. It was all they could do now. All they could do was keep their promise to each other, even at the cost of all other promises.

A year or so after the war’s conclusion, Valeria sat with her mother Odessa and mother-in-law, Narcissa in a parlor room of Malfoy Manor that had been fashioned into a sort of ladies’ lounge where they would entertain the women of the social elite. It was one of the few places where the three of them met all at once, for the sake of Valeria’s sanity.

As a reward for Draco handing over Potter and in addition to Valeria’s pardon, Draco had been granted chief executor of the Malfoy estate. While ownership transferred to him upon marriage, as tradition dictated, Lucius remained formally and informally in charge of the property and the Malfoy assets. The Dark Lord insisted Draco take his father’s place, humiliating Lucius all the more. Valeria suspected that Lucius never forgave Draco for what he had perceived as a deep betrayal.

Rebuilding the world had been chaotic and in the mess of everything and, with new responsibilities forced upon him, Draco assigned the different wings of the manor to the different branches of the extant Malfoy family. This was effective immediately once the Dark Lord moved his base of operations to the ministry.

Lucius and Narcissa were given the south wing. It gutted Draco to remove Narcissa from the master bedroom of the Manor that had been hers for decades, but as he was now master of the house, it had to be done. The south wing was smaller, but still audaciously luxurious and the elder Malfoys suffered no lack of comfort for it.

A section of the west wing had been given to Odessa for her apartments. The Dark Lord wanted to keep her around close due to her ability to spin anything in print to public favor, another one of Snape’s suggestion to keep rebellion from brewing. Odessa was still half-mad, but the only time when she reflected even a bit of who she once was when she was writing or editing articles or other public relations sort of work for the cause. She was once more a socialite and now a glorified gossip columnist, but as long as she was busy, Draco and Valeria deemed her harmless.

Draco and Valeria had full reign of the house though the north wing was strictly theirs. The largest and most stately of the available sections of the sprawling manor home. In effect it was their sanctuary.

The Winters castle in Wales sat empty and under the care of Tilly the house elf. Odessa could not stand to be there, and Valeria too never stayed more than a long weekend when she visited, as being surrounded by the life she once had was too painful to linger long upon.

But that was far from Valeria’s mind as she shared tea with her mother and mother-in-law going over files of individuals. Each file had a photograph, information about the individual and one other critical piece of information.

They were hours into their discussion. They were close to their final recommendations of the first round of marriage arrangements since Valeria and Draco. Narcissa and Odessa were the masterminds of the process, but it was Valeria who was called upon to be the public face of the initiative. The idea was that it would be easier for any reluctant members of the public to accept if it came from the woman who had first experienced it herself. Since many eligible individuals in this first round were her friends or peers, Valeria’s recommendations held great weight. Of course, final approval would require Ministry oversight.

“And Daphne Greengrass?” Narcissa asked, looking over Daphne’s file. She set aside the lovely headshot of Daphne and examined the application detailing her personal information; education, age, build and height, current roles and assignments in the new order if applicable, amongst other details including, of course, blood status.

“Who’s on her list?” Odessa asked.

That was the other critical piece of information included in the files. Each person who had been notified they were to be paired off had to include a list of other eligible individuals they would be happiest marrying in descending order. They were given three lines for three names. Though it was not a guarantee, Valeria was determined to honor their choices.

“Zabini, Nott, Montague.” Narcissa read in order from first to last. Valeria reached for Blaise Zabini’s file.

“He hasn’t been paired yet. They always got on in school and have been close lately. It’s a solid match, I think.” Valeria said. The Slytherin girls had often whispered about what would become of them if the Dark Lord won; if they would be paired off into a pureblood marriage just as Valeria had been with Draco. Valeria already knew of Daphne’s pact with Blaise; that they would choose each other if it came to that. Valeria was determined to honor it.

“Very well,” Narcissa said, taking Blaise’s file from Valeria. “I’ll make the note and put this in the piles to send to the Ministry.”

“Pansy Parkinson is next. She’s listed Harper, Pucey and Zabini,” Odessa said. Valeria reached for Harper’s file. Sure enough, Pansy was atop his list too.

“He’s available. They’ve been friendly with each other in the past. I think they’re compatible,” Valeria said, handing Narcissa Alexander Harper’s file. She had no clue if it was a good match. School crushes rarely determined compatibility, and Pansy’s pursuit of Harper had appeared rushed and done so out of fear of being paired off with someone less desirable. But it was all she could do for Pansy.

“Alright,” Narcissa said, repeating the process with the files as she had with the previous ones.

There was a knock on the door and Narcissa called them to enter. Narcissa often forgot out of habit that she was no longer the lady of the house. The handle turned and Draco entered followed by a pale, exhausted looking Lucius. He had looked that way for so long, Valeria had nearly forgotten what he was once like. .

“Sorry to disturb your work. I need to talk to Valeria.” Draco said. Even he looked pale with dread. Like he already knew this conversation was not going to go well.

“Of course. Time for a break anyway,” Valeria said. They’d been at this for hours and Valeria had hated each agonizing second, though she was not stupid enough to allow herself to show it or feel it too deeply. Odessa lovingly squeezed Valeria’s shoulder she left with Narcissa, her best friend of decades. Odessa smiled softly, serenely, and Valeria was aware of how much she resembled her mother. It made her all the more resent Odessa, who had trained Valeria her whole life for a life like this. To eventually become her. Lucius was whispering to his wife when Draco shut the door.

“What’s happened?” Valeria asked, reading Draco’s long expression. She knew that look on him too well. She had seen it too many times to trick herself into believing this was not bad news.

“About the marriages. I don’t know how close you are to being done but there’s one that must occur and is not negotiable.”

Valeria’s heart sank a little, but she had some hope. That was foolish of her. She reached for the files. “Who then?”

“Pansy and Goyle,” Draco said quietly. Valeria looked at him as if he had transfigured himself into a flamingo.

“He’s not on her list,” she said stupidly in her bewilderment. She knew Pansy long and well enough to know that such an obvious fact need not be said. There was no world where Pansy would want to be with Goyle. She quickly rummaged through the files. “I don’t even have a file for Goyle.”

“He never submitted his file because he asked the Dark Lord for her specifically,” Draco said, arms crossed leaning against the door. He could barely manage to meet Valeria’s angry gaze.

“For what? Why?”

“Claiming his reward for aiding in Potter’s capture.” Draco said, wincing a little at the sound of Potter’s name escaping his lips. Valeria stared dumbfounded at Draco, waiting for something else. Waiting for him to admit this was a stupid, sick joke he was playing in her. Waiting for some bright side. For some kind of reassurance that this was not the horror she thought it was.

None came.

“There must be another way. The Dark Lord will listen to logic. He doesn’t give a shit about marriages anyway as long as the bloodlines are intact or improved—”

“Which is exactly why he doesn’t give a shit about Pansy and what she feels or does not feel about it.”

“Draco. He’s not a schoolyard thug anymore. He’s a monster. You could barely control him seventh year and in the Room of Requirement…What he did to that muggleborn woman—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! We can’t—I can’t do this to her!” She paused. “She’s our friend.”

“There isn’t anything I can do. You know that,” he said softly with deep regret on his tongue. Valeria stood in rage.

“If it’s so easy for you to accept this then _you_ can sit here all day with our mothers and do to our friends what was done to us like we’re trading goddamn chocolate frog cards!” 

Draco stepped from the wall, demeanor suddenly shifting to the frantic, fearful rage that she too had been familiar with as he marched toward her, stopping just in front of the table between them.

“Keep your voice down!” he snapped in a rough whisper. “We’re the example, remember? The only reason this is happening to them too is because of our success. We need to act like the model that we are.” He paused. “We can’t undo what happened to us but this marriage...us...it’s the only good thing to come of our lives aside from the fact that we’re lucky to have our lives at all.”

“ _We_ were being punished. What has Pansy done to be punished?”

“She doesn’t deserve it. But the Dark Lord thinks Goyle does.”

“Draco please.” Valeria said nearly in tears for the first time in a long time. “Don’t you wish someone would have stood up for us?”

“That was back when there was still hope,” he said. He turned on his heel, unable to watch her cry and be powerless to stop it. He made it a few steps towards the door and stopped with his fingers on the handle to look over his shoulder at her. His ice-cold eyes bored into her like an auger.

“We’re all monsters Valeria,” he said.

The official protocol once the marriage arrangements were approved by the new Ministry, was for letters to be sent to the parents of the unknowing betrothed so it at least appeared as though the families had a part in the arrangement, as it was in the old days long ago. The letters were written by Valeria herself, as she had been ordered to do, after the template she drafted was approved by the ministry’s new Department of Purity.

Valeria reviewed Pansy’s letter feeling like her soul was in a benumbed state of suspended animation as she waited for the ink to dry:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Perseus Parkinson III,_

_I am pleased to inform you that the betrothal of your daughter, Miss Pansy Parkinson, to Master Gregory Goyle has been approved and certified by the Department of Purity._

_Please report to the Department of Purity no later than thirty days after receiving this notice in order to complete the necessary licenses and paperwork needed by the wedding date. Weddings are to be held within six months of completion of that process. Further details are included with the materials accompanying this letter._

_Marriage has truly been the greatest joy of my life. Whilst great change can be surprising, please know that this decision was made with the utmost care and thoughtfulness for the happiness of the couple and the prosperity of a pure wizarding world. I can personally attest to what a blessing and source of pride my own experience has been. I have great hopes for this couple as well._

_My most heartfelt congratulations,_

_Mrs. Valeria T. Malfoy_

The only thing Valeria didn’t despise about the letter was being permitted to sign her first name; she was usually _Mrs. Draco Malfoy_ in official documents.

Normally this notice would be sent via owl, but the matter of Pansy was too close to her heart that she was compelled to present the document to her parents in person. It was the only thing she could do that was in any way right. She appeared before the gates of the Parkinson home. A handsome brick mansion in the far south of England near the sea. A stone gargoyle above her began to move and spoke without moving its mouth.

“Name and business.”

“Valeria Malfoy. News regarding Pansy’s betrothal.”

The gargoyle paused and then returned to its position, becoming still once more. The gate before her opened and Valeria walked up the long stone drive and past the fountain just outside the house to the doorstep. Valeria hadn’t a chance to knock before the door flew open and Alice Parkinson, Pansy’s mother, stood wide eyed and gaunt. She had a smile on her face that made her look like she was wincing.

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Valeria said lowering the hood of her traveling cloak.

“Not at all Valeria, please come in.” Alice ushered Valeria in led her to a sitting room where Perseus Parkinson, a large-boned and tall man, stood as she entered. He nodded to her.

“It’s good to see you again, Valeria,” he said nervously. Valeria reciprocated his greeting and sat as he gestured to the armchair opposite him. Alice returned with a tray of tea and light fare that rattled in her shaking hands. Not wanting to torture them with pleasantries and delaying the inevitable, Valeria handed them the letter she had written and slid the large envelope of materials towards them on the table.

“Goyle...Thomas’s son? The one who...that Mudblood in Liverpool? Perseus—” Alice said, unable to finish her thought as she burst into tears. Perseus was pale as he read the letter over. Goyle’s reputation for cruelty had preceded him.

“Valeria there must be some mistake. We were sure it was going to be Alexander Harper. He already bought her a ring...he asked for my blessing even though it didn’t matter.”

The hardness of Valeria’s heart was beginning to crack. “There were many factors taken into account. This decision comes from the Dark Lord himself.” 

“‘ _There were many factors’_?! What kind of meaningless bullish—”

“Alice!” Perseus hissed in warning grabbing his distraught wife’s arm. He looked at Valeria with tears in his eyes. And it crushed her to realize that these people, whom she had known since she was a girl, were terrified of her. “Valeria, please. She’s our only child…my little girl. I knew you weren’t always close but, she’s your housemate. Your friend…Surely your word would mean something—” he had to stop as he choked back tears.

Valeria swallowed compassion. “If you have any qualms with the decision there is an option to appeal. That information can be found in here,” Valeria said gesturing to the large envelope. “I should caution you that the appeal process is for primary for legal purposes as in forged Proofs of Purity or some other reason why a person cannot legally marry.” It was the gentlest way she could think of to tell them that the appeal process was a sham put in place to make people feel better. It was legally airtight and impossible to navigate. Complaining about disliking a designated spouse would not be taken well, let alone make any headway in the appeal process.

The Parkinsons processed Valeria’s words for a few moments but said nothing. Valeria took her cue to leave. She was about to tell them about where to go for any questions they had as she stood when Alice stood too.

“No,” she said, trembling with grief and rage. “You’ll tell her yourself.”

“Alice!”

“If you ever considered my daughter your friend, you will go up there and tell her yourself.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment. Valeria was taken aback, but that was why she was here after all; to deliver bad news in person. Valeria nodded and left the room, marching up the stairs to where she remembered Pansy’s room to be from the few times she visited as a girl.

Pansy opened the door when Valeria knocked and looked immediately relieved. She hugged Valeria warmly, tightly as if the latter were her rescuer. Valeria tensed in frozen shock. Draco was the only person who had touched her beyond handshakes in so long. She wasn’t used to this. Pansy pulled her into the room and closed the door.

“I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been losing my mind ever since this was announced. Thank God you’re involved. That’s something at least. What is it?”

“Pansy...I’m sorry. It wasn’t up to me,” Valeria said directly, knowing that beating around the bush would only hurt Pansy more.

Pansy’s expression twisted into terror. “Who?”

“Goyle.”

Pansy took a step backward as if she had been punched in the gut using a bedpost for support. The room hadn’t changed much since the girls were fourteen. It was still covered in pink and purple. There was a large, poster sized photograph of Pansy on the wall with a beautiful unicorn. Pansy adored unicorns. This was not the room of a woman ready to be married.

“You have to do something.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Valeria said. 

“But...Harper...”

“Will be paired with another.”

“Valeria, please—”

“Pans—”

“He’s horrible. You know he is. I read those articles. Everyone knows what he does to people! He’s hideous, he’s disgusting. The thought of him touching me—” She started sobbing. Valeria reached out to her, but Pansy slapped her arm away hard. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Valeria stepped back.

“All we ever did when it happened to you was worry and try to help. We listened to you mope and whine that whole year. I yelled at Malfoy for you once, did he ever tell you that? And now it’s happening to us and all you have to say is there’s nothing you can do? Did you even try?”

“I did!” It just burst out of Valeria’s mouth. She was angry both on Pansy’s behalf and at herself for not being able to more. “I tried, but it came from the Dark Lord himself. There is absolutely nothing I could do.” Pansy stared at Valeria as if waiting for her to say something. “Take my advice. The sooner you accept this, the better off—”

Pansy cackled through her sobs. “What like you? All you and Draco did was plot and scheme and try to worm your way out of it, like you always do! What, you thought we didn’t notice? You think you’re so clever and perfect, that you can keep your secrets, but you’re not as good as you think. You’re pathetic! You had it all and now look at you, Malfoy’s submissive little bitch! If the old you could see you now she’d kill herself to avoid turning out like you!”

Valeria was wounded. She hated that part of what Pansy said, the spirit of it, was true. She turned before she could do anything she would regret.

“Goodbye, Pansy.”

It had been tradition since they were eleven years old. All the Slytherin students of their year gathered for a picture in the common room at the start of each schoolyear. Valeria hardly ever looked at the old photographs, but she studied it now in a parlor room of the north wing of Malfoy Manor.

It was sixth year. Pansy had insisted on taking it, roping some first year into holding the camera, and Valeria now wondered if she’d be arranging that first year’s marriage someday, if they were still alive. Valeria didn’t want to pose for the picture. She was miserable, grieving, worried about Draco after what happened on the train.

Pansy was loud. Bright of spirit. Happy. She was rude. She was mean. She was petty. She could be downright cruel. She didn’t deserve this. Valeria still cared and hated herself for caring, revolted by her own unscarred face looking miserably back at her from the photograph. The photo became blurry as tears welled in her eyes and she hadn’t noticed the door creak open. Draco walked in, crouching at her feet, his hands gently on her knees.

“Valeria...” he said. Just the sound of his voice sent her over the edge, and she began to sob.

“I feel like I’ve killed her,” Valeria said through tears.

“You haven’t. There’s nothing you can do.”

“She’ll never forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.”

“You don’t have to forgive yourself, you just have to learn to live with it,” Draco said softly. She looked at him, seeing his own sadness. She knew better than to ask if this is how he felt when he handed Potter over to Voldemort. If it was anything like what she felt now…

“You’re not a woman. You can’t understand,” she said.

Draco nodded slightly, taking her meaning. He curled his lip inward, suppressing the urge to once again express his own helpless sadness when they were first married, but wisely kept it to himself.

“I’ll talk to Goyle. I’ll tell him to be patient with her. I’ll tell him not to hurt her. I can’t guarantee anything but—”

“What if it were me, Draco?”

He paused then looked at her. “I’d kill him.”

He said it so casually she believed he could easily kill just as easily as he could blink.

Pansy’s wedding had been more miserable than Valeria and Draco’s. It was bigger, more guests, but Valeria was preoccupied with Pansy who looked like an animated corpse the entire day and evening. Valeria had been called upon to give a speech, honoring the event in light of her own arranged marriage. Pansy’s mother wept as Valeria spoke. Pansy’s father looked like was about to kill Valeria where she stood.

During a break in the reception, Valeria approached Pansy whilst Goyle was mingling. Pansy just stared at her, affronted by Valeria’s audacity. Valeria discretely slid a small parcel wrapped in white paper across the table to Pansy.

“Drink this tonight when you leave,” Valeria said. Pansy just looked at her with disgust. “One sip and you won’t cry. Three sips and you won’t remember anything tonight.”

“You make it?” Pansy asked, barely above a whisper. Valeria nodded. She has worked tirelessly on it in time leading up to Pansy’s wedding. “I made sure it’ll work. None of the tests I did showed risk of adverse effects.”

“What is it?”

“The Wife’s Relief,” Valeria said; the morbid name she had given the potion. Pansy swallowed and with a shaking hand took the parcel into her lap to hide it. Valeria turned, not wanting to subject Pansy to her unwanted presence any longer.

“Valeria,” Pansy called. Valeria turned around and reapproached. Pansy leaned forward across the table and whispered. “What was it like? The night of…? With you and Draco?”

Valeria curled her lip inward. She needed to choose her words carefully. Pansy was not known for minding her time and being as rightfully distraught as she was, she was unappreciable and therefore dangerous.

“He was kind to me,” Valeria answered. A half-truth that Pansy accepted with a downtrodden nod.

** July 2002 **

“She’s not going to be happy to see me,” Valeria said to Daphne as the two women made their way up the long drive to Pansy and Gregory Goyle’s hauntingly stately home, holding several gifts in hand from the other wives for the baby a few months after the initial pregnancy announcement.

“The more she’s sees of you, the more likely she’ll be to reach out to you if she actually needs help. She might hate you, but she knows that you still have more influence than all of us,” Daphne said. Valeria knew Daphne was right as she often was, but she still had a bad feeling about this. Daphne had managed to keep on Pansy’s good side, despite the latter’s deep envy of the former. Daphne was trying to keep an eye on her, to keep her as safe as they could without tipping of Gregory.

Daphne knocked. No answer.

She knocked again. No answer.

“We can at least drop the gifts off if she’s out,” Valeria said.

“She never leaves the house,” Daphne said. Daphne reached for the handle and opened the front doors to the darkened foyer. The women stepped inside the eerily silent home and on the ground was a piece of parchment in the center of the foyer. Valeria set down the gifts she carried and walked toward it, uncrumpling it once she had it in hand.

Before she could read it, there was a creaking sound overhead. And Valeria looked up.

Pansy Goyle gently swung, hanging limp by her neck from the chandelier above, made off balance by the weight of her corpse. Valeria screamed and it was then that Daphne saw too. Daphne rushed Valeria, who doubled over, sobbing and dry heaving, forcing the latter’s gaze away from the sight. Even Daphne, who had been training as a Healer for over a year now, could not maintain clinical emotional distance, as hard as she tried. She dragged Valeria, who sobbed and violently trembled into the other room and activated the floo network of the nearby fireplace, knowing Valeria was too distressed to apparate without risking splinching.

“I’m sending you home. I’ll get Draco to you as soon as I can, just go home!” Daphne said. Valeria could not see clearly through her tears, she only saw a blur of light and tripped out of the fireplace into the familiar north wing of Malfoy Manor. She landed hard on her hands and knees and she lost control of herself as she dry heaved hard enough to wretch all over the stone floor before. Her head throbbed and her face was wet with tears, mucus, spit or vomit or some revolting combination thereof.

Tinky popped into the room, calling out for her, but Valeria barely made out what was said. Tinky vanished away the vomit, fortunately and reached out to Valeria, but she recoiled from the touch.

“Milly, the Goyle house elf, told Tinky! Tinky has sent for Master Malfoy! Mistress, please let Tinky help Mistress to—” Tinky was stopped by another pop into the room. Draco had apparated in and nearly shoved Tinky out of the way on accident as he rushed his wife on the stone ground.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here…” he repeated over and over, sitting on the ground and pulling her into his arms. He held her tight to his chest, his hand in her hair as he held her securely. She shook violently as she sobbed into his chest. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time, despite the dozens of deaths she had witnessed. “I got you. I got you. I’ve always got you...” She clung to his chest and he reached for her hand to find a crumpled parchment in her grasp. Holding her still, he uncrumpled it with difficulty with one hand to read it,

 _Fetal Gender Determination:_

_Girl_


	4. Malfoy the Merciful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Implied/Referenced rape. Domestic/spousal abuse. Graphic description of violence. Discussion of suicide. Mild consensual sexual content. Discussion of war/death.

**August 1998**

Valeria had been quite angry with Draco when he said that moving back to her home in Wales was not an option. The Dark Lord wanted them in Wiltshire. Before the war’s conclusion, Draco had said that Wales was an option, but because of Draco’s newfound value to the Dark Lord, that hope was dashed, like all the others. She was in no position to make demands, but there were conditions,

  1. Valeria would refuse to enter the drawing room or the cellar unless explicitly ordered by the Dark Lord.
  2. Bellatrix Lestrange was not permitted onto the Malfoy estate unless absolutely necessary.



Narcissa had been upset about the second condition, but as Draco was in charge of the estate, there was nothing she could do and, in all honesty, he had no desire to see his aunt either. Narcissa was welcome to visit Bellatrix whenever she pleased. Valeria had hoped Odessa would return to Wales, but Odessa was too unstable to be left alone for too long. Keeping her in Malfoy Manor would allow her to keep busy. Konstantin, Valeria’s brother and Odessa’s only other child, was buried in the courtyard of the small Welsh castle there and Valeria doubted Odessa could emotionally handle being too close to his grave for too long.

Draco had accommodated Valeria as best he could. The north wing was spacious enough for her to roam freely without interruption, and the rest of the estate was also available to her. He had become almost irrationally protective of her in the months following the war and Valeria didn’t have to ask why. They had been so close to losing each other and he had traded Potter’s life for hers. He told her once and only once about what had happened with Potter, but he never told her Potter’s last words,

_Draco…You’re making a mistake._

He would not allow Potter to be right. If Draco could keep Valeria safe than perhaps his evil act would not be in vain. Valeria indulged Draco’s protection, hoping someday he would calm down. Draco knocked on the door in the late morning before entering the master chamber, which they had recently moved into.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Valeria looked in the mirror, doing one final check of her glamours. She had done a little more work than usual for the purposes of being photographed. Odessa had forced both Konstantin and Valeria to wear magical, appearance altering cosmetics since they were children. She had never, before the war at least, stepped out without looking less than perfect. Freakishly, eerily perfect like a porcelain doll. Appearances were everything to the Winters family and so was maintaining repute at any cost. During the war the glamours were her trusty shield, the mask that protected her. Now, there was just one problem that ate at her each time she looked in the mirror.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, rising to meet him. They made their way down to a parlor room.

“I’ve already talked to her about what she can ask and print. I’ll be in there with you the entire time,” Draco said as they came to the room. Valeria nodded and Draco opened the door. Rita Skeeter was in the room laughing with Valeria’s ever elegant mother. The two of them had always gotten on; Rita only sung the praises of the Winters for most of her journalistic career.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Rita said, approaching Valeria and taking her hand in greeting. “As lovely as ever.”

Rita was staring at Valeria, the latter watched the former’s eyes follow the jagged, diagonal scar across her face. It was all most saw when they looked at her and unable to covered by glamours or cosmetic charms, due to being created by dark magic. That was the entire point. It was exactly what Bellatrix wanted when she cut Valeria’s face. In fairness, it was a haunting image. With the glamours on, the scar looked like a long crack in a marble statue, no matter how much she tried to cover it. She had tried everything, and nothing worked. Odessa wept the first time she saw it in the flesh, bemoaning the tragic of her daughter’s tarnished face and not for her daughter’s pain.

Rita said nothing about it, Valeria imagined Draco had expressly forbidden it. They took their places in the parlor for the interview. It was near Draco and Valeria’s first wedding anniversary and Odessa had the idea of running an article about them for the sake of public relations in the new order. Draco tried to fight it, but the order to go forward with the interview came from above.

Draco dismissed Odessa to her dismay, but she wasn’t about to fight him. He stood behind Rita, watching what was written in her notes and Rita was visibly uneasy with him hovering, though she dared not protest. The mark on Draco’s arm now protected Valeria as it had damned her before.

The questions were tedious; _How does it feel to have been married a whole year? You have proven that tradition can prevail above all else in the name of love. How have you been recovering from your kidnapping? Does it make you anxious knowing that two of your captors, Weasley and the Mudblood Granger are still at large? Can we expect a new generation of Malfoys anytime soon?_

Valeria dutifully answered in compliance with the story that she and Draco agreed would be the official one; Her memory was oddly fuzzy about many of the details anyway.

“And Harry Potter, how did you manage surviving as his captive? Did he…Did he try to violate you?”

“Skeeter!” Draco shouted before Valeria could respond or even recoil in disgust at the implication. Rita nearly jumped out of his skin at the volume of his voice.

“My apologies Mr. Malfoy,” she quickly said. “It is a rumor I have heard, and I merely wanted to clear the air—”

“He kidnapped me to use as a bargaining chip, Miss Skeeter,” Valeria interrupted. “Potter was a fool but knew it would be better to have me…undefiled.” Valeria looked at Draco who held his hand to his chin, expression twisted in contained rage staring intently at Rita’s notes as if he wanted the woman to drop dead. This was all part of the plan and Rita was part of it too; Make Potter seem like as much of a villain as possible. He needed to be a monster that wanted to tear the traditions of the wizarding world asunder. A young, pureblood witch of good intelligence and reasonable attractiveness was the perfect vehicle to defame Potter.

The photographs were next. They were posed before the great double door Malfoy Manor and a jittery photographer took their pictures as Draco held his hand heavy on Valeria’s waist.

**July 2002**

Two days after the suicide of Pansy Goyle, Valeria sat, wrapped in her nightrobe before the fireplace, looking at Skeeter’s article, reading it over and over.

_Mrs. Valeria Malfoy speaks with resounding pride for her war hero husband, who she is grateful to be reunited with. Thanks to Mr. Malfoy’s heroic act at the Battle of Hogwarts and the Dark Lord’s triumph, Valeria is safe and sound at home, taking the time she needs to recover from the many trials she has courageously endured through the war. To us, she is a bastion of feminine strength and a model to young ladies everywhere. She is the very image of grace and it is clear that Mr. Malfoy is an incredibly lucky man. It is no wonder he fought so hard to recover his dearly beloved bride from enemy terrorists. The bond between these two noble youths is forged by tradition and their mutual desire to maintain traditional ways and values in the wizarding world._

She sighed, unable to stomach anymore of the nonsense and she folded the old newspaper over to look at their image. They looked so much older than they were at time. Perhaps it was the stuffy clothes or their stiff postures, but something about them had aged far beyond their years. Skeeter had been right about one thing; she was incredibly lucky to have Draco. The fact that Pansy had to suffer whilst she never had anything to fear from Draco made her feel ill with even more guilt. She was torn from her thoughts when Draco entered the chamber.

“Daphne’s here to see you. She’s waiting in the parlor. I had Tinky set out some lunch for you both,” Draco said. She didn’t respond. Draco sighed. “Valeria, if you don’t start eating soon…”

“Let me change first,” she said quietly, rising from her seat.

“You don’t have to. Daphne doesn’t care. She understands. Just go talk to her, please?” Draco said. Valeria nodded and followed Draco out to the parlor, and he kept his hand on the small of her back as they walked. “I’ll let you ladies talk. Summon Tinky if you need anything.”

“Malfoy, you should stay. You should hear this too,” Daphne said. Draco obliged and stood beside Valeria before Daphne.

“What’s happened?” Valeria asked.

“I haven’t submitted the report yet, the examination isn’t finished, but I didn’t know what else to do. It was between you or Snape, and I thought I’d come to you first.”

“Just tell us, Greengrass,” Draco said.

“I insisted on helping with the autopsy. We’ve detected a high level of unicorn blood in Pansy’s system,” Daphne said. Valeria’s heart sunk down her chest.

“What? What the hell would she be drinking that for? How would she even get a hold of any?!” Draco asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. This is really serious, given how controlled it is. Valeria, do you know anything? Why would Pansy do this?”

“Maybe she…attempted before and changed her mind,” Draco suggested.

“Snape…Snape said there were three vials unaccounted for, missing. He asked if I knew anything about it, which I obviously didn’t,” Valeria said.

“That would explain why the levels were so high,” Daphne said.

“But that doesn’t explain how it got in the hands of Pansy of all people,” said Draco.

“Daphne, did they find anything else? A note maybe…explaining why?” Valeria asked. It was the question that had been eating at her for two days. One of the worst days of Pansy’s life, the day Valeria delivered the news of her marriage to Goyle, was to Valeria a mere uncomfortable errand. Pansy’s wedding was to Valeria a simple society event that required her to perform for a few hours.

The gravity of what Valeria had done, how so thoroughly used she was as an instrument of pain and suffering rotted her soul. She had been so concerned with getting by, getting herself through the next miserable day that she had never considered, truly considered, what it was she did. Even at Pansy’s wedding she had hardly thought of her own. She had not recalled her own fear of Draco when it came time to retire that night, and the immense relief she felt at his refusal to touch her. All she did was pay her own pain forward.

“Other than that natal document you found, no,” Daphne said before taking a breath. “There was one thing. She was nervous leading up to the appointment to find out the gender of the baby and mentioned to me that she was terrified of having a girl."

“Why?” Draco asked.

“Because she would have to go through it all again, at least until she had a boy,” Daphne said. It clicked in Valeria’s mind. Her absentminded comment at the execution some time back had been more relevant than she could have then known.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I have to get back, but I wanted to ask before the report is finalized and sent to the Ministry. I’ll talk to you soon, Valeria. Let me know if you think of anything.”

Daphne made her exit and left the Malfoys in stunned silence. Valeria wracked her brain. She highly doubted Pansy was going around killing unicorns; she loved them. And there was almost no way for to even attempt to acquire such a controlled substance. Pansy was no potions expert, but she wasn’t dumb enough to drink it unless she absolutely had to. It was clear she was miserable already; it would make no sense for her make her life worse than it already was. Draco’s suggestion sunk into her mind, only…

“Goyle did it,” Valeria said.

“What?”

“If she did attempt before, why would she save herself with unicorn blood only to do it again? Why would she need _three vials_ of it? Goyle must have known she’d try it, or he caught her in the act, and he forced her to drink it.”

“But why wouldn’t he just heal her if he caught her or call a Healer? Unicorn blood would have to be a last resort,” Draco asked.

“A last resort that he so conveniently had on hand,” Valeria said. Draco paused and tears welled in Valeria’s eyes again. “Draco, you could see what he did to her. You know…”

Draco’s fists were clenched as he tensed his crossed arms. “He was punishing her.” His voice was low and dark. Without another word her turned and briskly walked out of the room. Valeria chased after him, following him all the way back to the master chambers calling his name. In their quarters, he was changing into a set of jet-black robes he often wore on duty.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting to the bottom of this,” he said.

“Let me come with you.”

“No!”

“She was my friend, Draco!” she shouted. He rushed her as he finished dressing. His stone-colored eyes were intense with rage, barely bridled.

“This is between me and him. You’re staying,” he insisted. He released her and picked up his wand.

“Draco,” she said. He turned. “Kill him.”

“If it comes to that, I will.”

Goyle wasn’t home yet when Draco arrived. Getting in was easy. Goyle had been arrogant, too stupid to listen to Snape’s recommendation for protective enchantments for Death Eaters to place on their private residences. Draco quickly and safely stunned the house elf before searching the house. Sure enough, in a cabinet in the cellar, three vials of a silvery liquid, one was half-gone. Unicorn blood.

Draco saw red. He nearly crushed one of the vials in his gloved hand.

Something snapped in him that had been lying dormant.

He grabbed the vials and went back upstairs and stood in the foyer directly under the chandelier from which Pansy hanged herself. And he waited. He did not keep track of how long he waited, but when he heard the front door unlatch, he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders back.

“Malfoy? What’re you—?”

Goyle had no time to finish his sentence when Draco met his eyes and invaded his mind. Legilimency had part been part of his training. The Dark Lord saw to it that Snape taught Draco the skill, particularly given how well Draco took to Occlumency. Goyle stood no chance against Draco and his single-minded determination.

In Goyle’s mind, Draco saw every brutal act of cruelty Goyle had committed against Pansy. Draco saw Goyle’s insatiable desire for violence. How he never cared how long and hard Pansy cried. How he punished her. How she was, to Goyle, a mere plaything to brutalize. Even Draco in his own life, his own marriage, by some miracle made room for tenderness in the never-ending darkness. Pansy never received a single ounce of it since the day she married.

Draco had seen enough. He could no longer endure it and when he released Goyle from the mental hold, the latter immediately drew his wand. In Goyle’s confusion, he was much too slow, and Draco deftly disarmed him. With a flick of his wand aimed at Goyle’s throat, Draco employed what had become his wife’s signature curse; _Obfocia_ or the Strangulation Curse.

Goyle’s hands went to his throat, pawing at an invisible rope that constricted his breathing, gasping and gagging, throat crackling as he tried to inhale. Draco’s hold was strong enough that, raising his wand a little, he could lift Goyle a few inches off the ground.

“Do you think this is how she felt, Goyle?” Draco asked, mocking his former friend. When Goyle’s eyes began to bulge and his lips went blue Draco released the strangle hold and slammed Goyle to the marble floor. As Goyle gasped, Draco waved his wand and manipulated Goyle’s body to lie on his back and magically pinned him to the marble. Draco stood over Goyle, looming over him while the wind swept in from the still opened door, shaking the chandelier above them so that the crystals sounded like the chattering of teeth.

“Did you think you’d get away with it?” Draco asked. He stomped on Goyle’s nose, breaking it under his heel.

“Fucking lunatic—!” Goyle shouted through the pain and the gasping, still trying to recover his breath. “Why’re you—”

Draco leaned over and grabbed Goyle’s jaw hard. “You think I’m a lunatic? You think that you don’t deserve it? You cursed the life of a pureblood witch. How do you think the Dark Lord is going to react when I tell him what you’ve done?”

Goyle’s eyes widened with fear at Draco’s implication. “There’re are others—”

“Not enough,” Draco spat. “She was your _reward_ , remember? You disrespected and dishonored the Dark Lord’s generous gift to you that you asked for. I can’t imagine a world where he does not take offense.”

“Then tell him, fucking coward—”

Draco released Goyle’s head to the ground and stomped on his right hand while Goyle shouted in pain. “Still as stupid as always. Some things just refuse to change. I’m not here for the Dark Lord. I’m here for Pansy. I’m here for me.”

“What do you care about Pans—?”

Draco grabbed Goyle by the collar, his blond hair now falling in his face. “She was one of our own! We grew up with her and _you_ killed her! _My wife_ had to find her right there!” Draco was yelling at the top of his lungs, unleashing years of resentment and rage all on Goyle, point up at the chandelier hovering above them.

“I don’t give a shit about Winters—”

“Liar!” Draco yelled. “I’ve seen the way you looked at her for years. The way you leered at her, your little comments on her being the ‘best looking girl in our year.’ The way you pried, asking me what it was like to be married to her in seventh year. What? You think I wouldn’t remember? You think I wouldn’t hold it against you? You think I didn’t fantasize about killing you every time I saw you smile at her the way you did? You think I can’t invade your mind right now and truly see every sick fucking thought you’ve ever had about _my wife_? Did you think I’d let you get away with it forever?”

If Draco allowed himself to unravel anymore, he believed he would start foaming at the mouth in frenzied rage. It wasn’t rational; He was here for Pansy, but he was weak of resolve. He was losing control. If Goyle made one more comment…

“You’re the same as me, Malfoy. Do you think Winters _wanted_ to marry you? Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy having her just like I—”

Draco stomped on Goyle’s left hand, feeling the fingers crack between his shoe and the stone.

“You think you’re a big man now, Malfoy?” Goyle said before Draco could verbally retaliate. You’ve been married all this time and haven’t even gotten an heir out of her yet. What does Lucius think about that, Draco? Is the Malfoy line a bit _too_ pure to make it happen—”

Draco stepped back and set his foot on top of Goyle’s groin. “And what kind of _man_ can only it get it by force, Goyle? I never had to force her to sleep with me and I never will.” Draco pressed down on Goyle’s groin. “And if you keep talking, it’s your bloodline you’re going to have to worry about.” Draco felt guilty saying what he did; He had always been notoriously discrete about his private life with his wife.

Draco removed one of the vials of unicorn blood from his pocket. “Here’s how this is going to go, Goyle. You’re going to drink this or I’m going to kill you.”

Goyle laughed. “You think you’d get away with killing me?!”

“Yes, I absolutely do. You’re good at torturing people, but so are the rest of us. You won’t be missed long.”

“You’re full of shit!”

“You think so?” Draco pressed hard on Goyle’s groin while the latter squirmed in agony before stepping away. He aimed his wand overhead. “That’s where my wife found yours. That was what I always liked most about Pansy; She always appreciated irony.” Draco flicked his wand and the chandelier rapidly descended, suddenly Goyle was screaming with terror. Draco halted the chandelier, levitating it in the air. “Call my bluff!”

“Draco…After everything…All those years at school…”

Draco let out a laugh with a small huff. “What about school, Goyle? I kept you around because you were useful. That’s all. Did you think we were equals? Honestly, Goyle, don’t pretend you were a friend to me either. You hung around me because of who I was, let me order you around because of who I was. Just like now, you take the orders of better men because that’s who you are. A pathetic little parasite who’ll blindly obey anyone who lets you have your fun. It’s too damn easy.”

Draco wasn’t telling the whole truth. He did, at one point, consider Goyle and Crabbe to be his true friends. But none of that mattered now. The boy who called Goyle friend had been dead for years, inurned deep within Draco’s soul, never to rise again.

Draco released only Goyle’s right arm from the pinning spell and forced the vial into Goyle’s injured hand. “Drink it, or it drops. It’s your choice.”

Goyle struggled to bring the open vial to his lips and stared intensely into Draco’s eyes. Just before the drop at the edge of the vial was about to slip into Goyle’s mouth, his lips twisted shut and he slammed the vial onto the floor, shattering it on the marble. Draco flung the floating chandelier into the grand staircase to their left with a booming crash and rushed Goyle. He grabbed Goyle but the back of the head and slammed the latter’s face into the pool of unicorn blood and shattered glass. Goyle wailed in agony as Draco smothered his face into the unicorn and only lifted his head to absolutely ensure the silvery liquid had reached Goyle’s lips.

Satisfied with the state of his former friend and finally feeling his pounding heart begin to settle, Draco dropped Goyle and rose.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Goyle,” Draco said, brushing his hair out of his face.

When Draco returned to Malfoy Manor, Valeria stopped pacing. Her heart had been pounding the entire time, immediately regretting letting him go alone, contemplating whether or not she should join him. Draco appeared in their quarters and immediately removed his gloves that had touched the unicorn blood and tossed them into the fire. He was due for a new pair anyway and wasn’t going to risk having them around. He shed his traveling cloak, draping it over the back of a chair. He hadn’t realized how warm he was until he was standing before the fire.

She saw him nearly silhouetted, partially illuminated by dancing firelight. The sweat on his brow glistened some and he was breathing heavy still, absolutely disheveled. He stretched his arm to grab the mantle and leaned over the fire. Valeria rushed to him, embracing him from behind.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“There’s blood on your shoes.”

He looked down, noticing it for the first time. “Not mine.” He turned to face her and reached into his pockets to hand her two sealed vials, one of which was half empty, of unicorn blood. “You should get these to Snape tomorrow. I’ll tell him the details when I see him next.”

“Where’s the third?”

“Spilled. Shattered on Goyle’s floor. I left him in it.”

“You killed him?” she asked in shock.

“Worse. Forced him to ingest it,” he said nodding to the unicorn blood. “Your gut was right. He forced Pansy to drink after she tried to kill herself. She was injured bad, but from what I could tell, there would have been time to save her if Goyle called a Healer. He did it to torment her.” Draco watched Valeria’s mouth twisted in rage. “It’s over. I took care of it.”

“Are you going to get in trouble for this?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I thought I would. Goyle’s a glorified Snatcher, only good for flinging curses. He’s muscle, pure and simple. That’s all he’s ever been good for. The Dark Lord might not have had a personal stake in Pansy’s life, but pureblood witches are not to be harmed without cause. His marriage was a reward, and he squandered the Dark Lord’s gift. Though, I think what I did to Goyle was worse,” Draco said.

She huffed and set the vials on an end table, going back to embrace him and resting her head on his chest. “Malfoy the Merciless.”

“So it would seem,” he said. He held her softly, gently, resting his own exhausted head briefly atop hers for a moment. He leaned back and gently touched the fingers of his right hand, warmed by the mantlepiece he had leaned against, under her chin. “Look at me,” he asked of her, whispering. There was something pleading in his tone, as if begging her to tell him he did something right for once.

She obliged him. Backlit by fire, his white hair caught the flames and it almost appeared as if his head was ablaze in a beautiful, ethereal way. He stunk of blood, of sweat and that damn cologne he had never changed since he was a teenager. His pointed features caught the shadows of the room in such a way to make look like his face were cut from stone. His left thumb came to the bottom of her chin and he ran it along a portion of the diagonal scar that ran across her entire face, a souvenir from Bellatrix Lestrange.

His thumb grazed her soft lower lip and desire awakened in him. He only felt softness when he touched her, and he craved it greedily. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. Propriety lost the battle to the passions as they sunk to the floor, him supporting her on the way down. She stopped him as he settled on top of her.

“Slow this time. Like it used to be,” she said. He nodded and kissed her again, knowing only one thing for absolute certain; No monster in this world could have her, save for him.

And there in the grace of loving night, still many hours off from the uncertain day to come, two irreparably broken people made each other whole once more.


	5. An Honor to Serve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic depictions of death and violence. Blood. Torture/suffering. Consensual sexual content.

**May 2, 1998**

To the day he died, Draco hated the smell of blood. Even a papercut would send him back to the Battle of Hogwarts in his mind’s eye.

He may have been responsible for Harry Potter’s death, but that was not Draco’s first murder.

After his short-lived reunion with his wife, from whom it pained him to tear himself away, he came back to Hogwarts as the massacre occurred in the Great Hall. He had half a mind to take her and run to the farthest corner of the earth, but he knew all too well, especially after what he had done, that they would be hunted in perpetuity until it was their turn to die at the Dark Lord’s hand. He had handed over Potter for Valeria and he returned for her too.

Draco felt his mother’s hand grasp his so hard he thought his fingers would break as the massacre turned the floor of the Great Hall red, Harry Potter’s corpse levitating overhead as a trophy. Remus Lupin was handed over to Greyback and ripped apart, limb from limb; His parts turned to indistinguishable mush on the floor.

The Weasleys were next.

Charlie refused to bow to the Dark Lord, and for that the Dark Lord magically split him in half whilst his parents wailed in agony. Bill was next and looking his wife in the eye, refused too to bow. He suffered the same fate. Percy was bloodily murdered for his betrayal of his post at the Ministry. Dolohov trotted out one of the twin’s, Fred’s if Draco remembered correctly, into hall and toyed with it until the other twin, George, stepped forward and knelt in his brothers’ blood to the Dark Lord. The parents were still screaming. Draco looked down, trying to tune it out, watching the blood flow past his shoes.

The Weasley girl was hysterical with grief, so much so it was unclear what she wanted to do; Die with her brothers or live. Ron Weasley was notably absent, but Draco only noticed that for a moment. Before she was called upon to make her loyalties known, Arthur Weasley stood before the Dark Lord and pledged his family’s loyalty. But the Dark Lord must have known it was only to save what little remained of his family and magically pinned Arthur face down to the floor, forcing him to drown in the blood of his sons.

But it didn’t stop. It never stopped. In Draco’s nightmares, as the years dragged on, the massacre carried on without end. The Dark Lord quickly grew bored of doing all the work. The Death Eaters, Draco’s comrades were eager to let the room run red with blood, but Draco had to be called upon. Justin Finch-Fletchley was forced to his knees before Draco and Bellatrix whispered in his ear,

_“Make him suffer, Draco.”_

And Draco did what he was told. He used a simple cutting charm to slit Justin’s throat. Just as his body fell, Dean Thomas was shoved before Draco to do the same.

By the end of the night, the night Draco Malfoy died in all ways save for in body, he was covered in the blood of nearly all he once claimed to despise.

When it was over, though it was only the beginning, Draco retreated directly to his and Valeria’s chamber in Malfoy Manor. She had hidden herself under the covers, limp and lifeless and he saw only death. He saw only the stacks of corpses in the Great Hall, he saw only the small splash and large crash Potter’s body made as the Dark Lord let it drop on top of them. In his mind’s eye, he saw Valeria’s corpse amongst them, like the crown jewel of the Dark Lord’s cruelty, and he lost himself.

He threw himself over her onto the bed, rousing her to wake, startling her. He screamed her name until his throat hurt, shaking her roughly until he realized with horrific relief that she was alive and now terrified. She looked at him, propping himself up on top of her, in the faint lanternlight seeing his face splattered with dried blood, nearly panting.

He was the only thing between her and the cruel world that was rising with the dawn.

“Draco…” she whispered softly.

At the sound of his own name, he burst into tears, rehydrating the blood dried to his cheeks. And his tears ran red as they fell onto her own cheeks before she took him to her chest and cradled his head in her arms as he wailed.

**Late August 2002**

Valeria had many duties in the Dark Lord’s new world. Officially, the first was to carry out the Dark Lord’s will, as was everyone’s. The second was to use her interests and talents in Dark Arts and higher mysteries in the crafting of new potions and curses to aid the regime in their efforts to expand their control of the wizarding world at large. The third was to assist in the arrangement of marriages, when needed. The fourth was to save face as a model Death Eater wife. The fifth was to maintain the Malfoy household in accordance with the needs and societal standards that she herself had a hand in setting.

Above all of these, the secret duty of her soul was to Draco as they once vowed and even now vowed over and over again.

But today’s duties, as summer began its descent into autumn, was to host afternoon tea with the ladies of the highest ranks of pureblood society. It was a weekly event, but this one was extra special as the young women about to enter their final year of Hogwarts were invited to intend. That had been the brilliant idea of Valeria’s mother, as if anyone else could come up with an idea so tedious.

Valeria actually didn’t mind parties but playing hostess to overly made-up schoolgirls who treated a simple tea party as some sort of twisted networking gala was not an event she enjoyed. In truth, the girls were only a few years younger than her. In a few years, it would be a negligible difference of age, but Valeria had aged too much in the past years to vaguely relate to them. These young women were old enough to remember Harry Potter, old enough to have passed him in the corridors on the way to class. Some of them may have even been his housemates, as the Dark Lord had united the school under the Slytherin banner. It was hard to tell which would have been sorted into Slytherin on their own qualities and those who weren’t.

“God, they’re ravenous,” Daphne said, finally catching Valeria alone. “That one just cornered me for five to give me a lecture on Goblins.”

“More interesting than what that one put me through,” Valeria said quietly, nodding towards another young woman whose name she forgot. “She just told me which boys she liked and why she would be compatible with them. They’re already worried about who they’ll marry.”

“In their defense, so was I as soon as the posters of your wedding went up all over Diagon Alley,” Daphne said. So much had happened that Valeria nearly forgot about that. Hers and Draco’s austere wedding picture was printed on posters with the call; _KEEP BLOODLINES PURE. PAIR EARLY WITH THOSE LOYAL TO THE CAUSE. FOLLOW THE MALFOY EXAMPLE._

“I forgot I was already married at their age,” Valeria said.

“Time flies,” Daphne said with a beleaguered sigh.

The students were annoying, like circling birds of prey swooping down on any opportunity to make an impression, overdoing it as they did, but Valeria could hardly blame them. This world was about survival. She was only breathing because of sheer chance, and because of Draco, and she considered herself amongst the lucky ones. Under the smiles, the platitudes, the fine clothing and made-up faces were terrified teenagers desperately trying to find a stable place in this world to call home, much like Valeria herself was just a few years ago.

The tea party did however provide an excellent opportunity to learn about how Hogwarts had been rebuilt after she endured her tenure at the institution.

Snape was Headmaster, though his duties as the Dark Lord’s right-hand man often called him away from his post, leaving much of the running of the school to the Carrows. Most of the faculty had been loyal to Potter and needed replacement, though a few managed to survive and keep their posts. Slughorn, of course, remained. The Dark Lord wanted to keep Trelawny around too. Vector, Binns, and even Hagrid stayed on as gamekeeper by some miracle.

She, fortunately, had not been there to witness the deaths of many of the other staff. Draco told her the nightmare that occurred once and never again. No one knew where McGonagall was, though Draco insisted matter was being pursued. The last Draco saw of her was when she was compelled to burn Dumbledore’s portrait. Sprout was murdered. Flitwick was murdered. Others too.

Apparently, the houses that weren’t Slytherin were stripped of their décor. Any evidence of the other three houses ever existing was gone. The Sorting Hat had been retired and Snape had given it to Valeria to store in the basement of the Winters castle as an historical artifact. Other than being one of the most magically secure places in Britain, she had no idea why Snape would want to keep the thing, now useless, around.

All the women looked up when the door opened. All the young women smiled politely at Draco as he entered the room and Valeria stood. Draco would never interrupt an event like this unless he had to; He despised tea parties.

“My apologies for disturbing you, ladies. I need to steal my wife for a few minutes, if I may,” he said, looking at Valeria. She nodded and followed him out, swearing she heard one of the girls say _“I hope I get a husband who treats me like that…”_ as Draco shut the door. He led her to another room, far away from where they can be disturbed.

“What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

“A meeting tonight. The Dark Lord has requested you attend,” he said with jaw clenched.

She was stunned. The Dark Lord hadn’t paid much mind to Valeria over the years other than requesting her to make potions and work with Snape on curses, all of those orders came through Snape. “What? Why the hell does he want me?”

“Snape was being irritatingly tight-lipped about it. Believe me, I would have forced it out of him if I thought I could get away with it. All Snape said was that it was for a special request. He guaranteed you haven’t done anything wrong to provoke the Dark Lord,” he explained.

“That doesn’t make me feel any easier about it,” she said. He sighed.

“I know. It will be just like before. Nothing’s going to happen, not tonight. I promise. Trust me.”

“I don’t have much of a choice otherwise, do I?”

Later that evening, after the Ministry’s daily business was closed, Valeria emerged from the Floo network into the atrium at the appointed time. She heard a clacking of heeled shoes and a high-pitched clearing of the throat as she turned.

“Mrs. Malfoy, how lovely to see you again.”

Valeria saw approaching her Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge and Valeria nearly laughed at her own misfortune. She despised Dolores, purposefully excluding her from any event she had a hand in planning and avoiding her at all costs. Of course Umbridge was to be the one to meet her now.

“You as well, Madam Undersecretary,” Valeria said with such a syrupy sweet politeness, it could have rotted Umbridge’s teeth.

“I’ve been asked to escort you. If you would follow me,” Umbridge said.

“Lead the way,” Valeria said with a gracious nod. Valeria prized her social skills, drilled into her by her own parents, but Draco said that she had a tell. Whenever trapped with someone she despised, he claimed, Valeria would grin even harder, her voice would lift a register, and she would overcompensate in polite manners for the sake of covering how much she despised the other. Valeria didn’t let Draco make her self-conscious about it, she didn’t even fully believe him, but interacting with Umbridge challenged her argument.

The Ministry was a shell of its former glory. It was dim and dark, as if the air itself weighed heavier here even in silence. There were monuments to Voldemort in the atrium and great artistic depictions of the oppression of Muggles and Muggle-borns. This was, naturally, old news that Valeria hardly noticed anymore. It was the least of her concern as she mentally prepared to face the Dark Lord once again.

Umbridge and Valeria rode the lift in silence. In any other scenario, they’d be a comical pair. While Valeria was also a short woman, she was far less stout than Umbridge. The older woman had been the most brightly dressed person Valeria had seen in ages with her pale pink robes, while Valeria wore her plain, high-necked dark robes and her dark hair pulled tightly back.

“I hear you’re going to be very busy quite soon,” Umbridge said with a cheeky dose of cheer.

Valeria’s turned sharply to the Umbridge. “Oh, were you made aware of my purpose here?”

Umbridge laughed in that squeaky little laugh that nearly made Valeria’s ears bleed. “No, of course not. I mean that a few of the pureblood prisoners in Azkaban are set to be released soon and I heard that marriage was one of the conditions of their release. Seems our chief matchmaker is going to have a fair bit to do.” Valeria smiled through her irritation. Wonderful, more files to sort through. The idea of anyone being a matchmaker in this world was laughable. “Let’s hope your instincts are a bit more honed this time. We wouldn’t want another Parkinson-Goyle situation on our hands, would we?”

Valeria had to stifle her laughter. Was that meant to be a threat? An insult? A dig? The specific nature of Umbridge’s comment was unclear, though I was blatantly not friendly. Pansy was a sore spot for Valeria, Umbridge must have realized at least that much somehow. But she could not let Umbridge win. No fear. No mercy.

“Unfortunate indeed,” Valeria said as the lift doors opened at the top floor of the Ministry and she followed Umbridge. “I’m told that my husband made quick work of the matter. I count myself so very lucky to be married to a man who will go to any lengths to do right by those he cares for.”

“Let us hope that such things will never be needed again from him,” Umbridge said as they approached a grand set of double doors, interpreting Valeria’s veiled threat.

“Yes, that would be wise now, wouldn’t it?” Valeria said with the smirk that she inherited from her mother, the knowing sly smirk the Winters were famous for.

The women stopped at the door and Umbridge knocked the great metal knocker once and only once.

“It will open when he’s ready for you,” she said. “Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“You as well.”

Umbridge walked off and out of sight whilst Valeria stood in wait before the doors. She recalled her first meeting with the Dark Lord and how young, how naïve she had been. Draco had been there then, standing at her side when she first faced him, but now she waited alone. When the doors finally swung open, she was met with a grand conference room that glistened from the floor to the ceiling with a long, dark table in its center. On all sides, the Death Eaters, marked and essential.

She saw Goyle, who looked at her with such disdain that Valeria would have melted away had it not been for the fact that her hatred outweighed his. She saw Bellatrix too and smirked slightly at her. Valeria's mere presence was enough to make Bellatrix seethe and Valeria enjoyed it each time it had occurred since the woman made the Unbreakable Vow. At the end of the table, the Dark Lord himself met her gaze.

“Rise, all of you! Who sits at the arrival of an honored guest?” the Dark Lord said and all but he himself stood at his command. Bellatrix stared daggers at Valeria as she did so, which Valeria found most amusing. “Mrs. Malfoy you are as lovely as ever. Draco, seat her at the end of the table.”

Draco, already present, moved from his place and pulled out the chair for Valeria at the far end of the table opposite the Dark Lord and pushed it in for her as she sat. The Dark Lord gestured for all to sit as she did.

“You honor me, my Lord. It is always an immense privilege to be in your presence,” she said with a soft, confident smile.

The Dark Lord laughed. “I shall say again that you all could learn from that famous Winters etiquette. I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you here tonight.”

“My Lord, I desire only to serve.”

He smiled, satisfied with her answer. “Severus has been quite impressed with your work together over these years since my victory. The fruits of your talents have been instrumental in our enterprise. I fear we have underutilized your potential, perhaps even overlooked you.” He paused. “Is it true you have given your husband Tranquila Sensus?”

“It is, my Lord.”

“And why would he need such a potion?”

She swallowed, trying to hide it as she did. “Forgive me for saying so, my Lord, but we are not all like you. Not all can do the noble work that needs to be done whilst remaining completely undistracted. I offered the Draco the potion in order for him to serve you at his best.”

The Dark Lord considered. Valeria knew flattery was key. She had to twist Draco’s distaste for brutality against innocents into a positive.

“I see,” the Dark Lord said. “Severus has mentioned to me you’re working on improving the basic concoction.”

“Indeed. I hope to craft something more potent and long-lasting,” she said truthfully.

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment. “Mrs. Malfoy, it pains me to say so, but it seems that we’ve run into a bit of a complication in our attempt to purge the Mudbloods from our decent society. You see, there are simply too many of them and as magic does course through their veins, I began to wonder if there would be a better use for them than dead. As my power and reach expands, I have come to the belief that having foot soldiers at my command that can integrate into the Muggle world would be useful. I would much rather lose Mudbloods to our enemies than those of purer pedigrees, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Most certainly, my Lord,” Valeria said as if the words were pre-programmed into her psyche.

“And this potion of yours, do you believe it possible to craft something more permanent?”

She didn’t have to ask the Dark Lord’s meaning. She was too world-weary now. He wanted a bigger army but wanted to use remaining Muggle-borns as fodder rather than lose the elite pureblood society that supported him. If she had not been so focused staying in his good graces now, she would have been shocked by the suggestion; He wanted a new army of unfeeling, apathetic soldier ready to carry out his whims and whom he would not miss if he lost.

“I’m not sure. With enough time and resources, I could come up with something I’m sure. I know it is possible to improve the potency, so I don’t see why permanence is out of the question.”

The Dark Lord bared his teeth in a sick smile. “Excellent. Naturally, you will work with Severus on this project.”

“My Lord, if I may, I must say that I will require access to ingredients, rare and dangerous ones, that are currently tightly controlled.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Malfoy, Nott can get you anything you need.” Valeria looked down the table to her old classmate, Theodore Nott, who nodded at her, confirming the Dark Lord’s words. Nott now worked in the Department of Mysteries and had access to nearly anything anyone could ever need.

“I shall set to it immediately,” Valeria said. “It is an honor to serve, my Lord.”

When the Malfoys returned to their chambers that night, Valeria turned on Draco as soon as they were alone.

“Valeria, I didn’t know—” Draco started.

“How many Muggle-borns are even left?!”

“The ones who haven’t been found yet. The ones who are too young or haven’t been born yet.”

“Do you hear yourself, Draco!?”

“I do!” he shouted. “And I know what I’m saying. You will have to do this, no matter how you feel—”

“How I feel? Since when has anyone given a damn about how I feel about anything since Potter died—”

“Don’t say his name!”

“You promised! After Hogwarts, you promised me that I wouldn’t have to be involved beyond Veritaserum, experimenting with curses and playing the part of your _devoted_ wife!” She was oversimplifying, but the meaning was true.

“You aren’t _playing_ at anything!” he shouted. “You _are_ my devoted wife, and you need to act like it in everything. Every time I tried to keep you out of it, you either barged your way in anyway or I was simply deluding myself into thinking this didn’t involve you. It just like sixth year; We’ve always been involved. Both of us!”

“Do not put this on me!”

“This is the price! This is what we have to do in order for my saving your life at Hogwarts by handing _him_ over to mean anything—”

“You didn’t save my life, you destroyed what was left of it. You condemned it! Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to live if this is what it meant?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you _ever_ say that!” Draco shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I can’t trust _anything_ you say, any promise you make because you will bend at the first sign of a risk!” She shouted. She was shaking in fear and rage, rattled and desperate like a caged beast. Draco’s cold eyes narrowed on her and she could feel his own ire radiate from him, but she was not about to back down this time. “You said I wouldn’t have to live here. You said I wouldn’t have to do anything for the cause. You said our marriage was a sham to punish us, yet here I am doing the same thing to others that was done to us! You lied to me. You lied to yourself!”

“And do you know why!? Because you wouldn’t have made it without those lies. We _need_ them!”

She took a step forward and sneered at him. “Were they, are they, worth it Draco? Was it worth delivering the Dark Lord his victory for what we are now? Was trading Potter’s life for this _really_ worth it?”

Draco went pale for a second, the corner of his mouth pulled up in disgust, and for a split second he looked like he was going to be sick. He exhaled long and inhaled sharply. Valeria stared at him, as if challenging him, waiting for him to react. In a flash, he moved and slammed his fist into the nearby, heavy oaken bedpost with all the might that remain in him. Valeria barely flinched. He turned, first still clenched and she could see his knuckles bled a little. He marched to her, stopping just before his body would have made contact with hers and loomed over her, staring down at her with so much hateful fury that her blood would have gone cold if she were not so incensed herself.

“I didn’t just trade him,” he spat. “I traded my soul for you!” His stone-gray eyes welled with furious tears and his expression twisted as though he were holding something back. She could feel his hot breath on her skin. “I don’t care if you’ll never forgive me. You can hate me all you like. I would do it all again. Just like I promised I would.”

She took a deep, huffing breath staring into his wild, gray eyes that raged like a rainstorm on a foggy day and were just as difficult to see through and understand. This room, their chamber, was the only place in Malfoy Manor that ever felt warm and the temperature felt as though it were rising with the boiling of her blood. The chamber was their only sanctuary from the miserably perilous world without. It was heavenly hellish. Draco did not back down as his chest heaved with his breath, staring down at her. They were at an impasse of obsessive, violent devotion to one another and neither of them could contain themselves.

Draco crashed his mouth onto hers, taking her by the waist and she gave in to his hard embrace. The only touch either of them received that did not bring pain was from each other. His kiss was greedy, craving something, anything, that would give him control for a little while. He stepped forward, holding her still, until she was pressed between him and the wall. He broke the kiss and turned her around, her front against the wall. She felt a draft on her legs as he pulled up the skirts of her of her robes and had her there. His left arm snaked around her waist and up her torso to hold her against and her face was turned to see his right hand against the wall, flexing as he moved, bruises starting to form on his bloodied knuckles. She felt his breath against her ear, interspersed with low, guttural sounds that escaped his throat as he moved.

She could have told him to stop, and trusted wholly that he would, but she didn’t want him to. As much as he needed to feel in control of himself, of something, of anything, she needed to surrender. Each morning she walked out of their chamber to face another day of carefully controlling every thought, word and action. That exhausted her more than anything else, and it made her cold. It made her alone. She craved the release, the resignation of her body and spirit. She needed to succumb and so happily, resentfully, yielded to his base desires and her own.

He trembled as he finished and caught his breath with her still pressed up against the wall.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered. His voice was gentle, ashamed, now. She shook her head in the negative. “Don’t ever let me hurt you. Not like that, at the very least.”

He was not the man she once loved, but he was the man she needed to love now.


	6. The Scourging of Godric's Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of death and violence. Descriptions of pain/fear. Implied mass violence. Mild consensual sexual content.

“As you can see, it’s escalating faster than I thought,” McGonagall said as Ginny pored over the parchment carefully. “I think, for now, we should refocus our efforts from liberating Azkaban to this.”

“The Muggle-borns are still in hiding,” Ginny began. “That buys us time to get Luna and the others out of Azkaban before they start this.”

“The Department of Purity has been working tirelessly to reorganize all the records of every witch and wizard in Britain. Once they finish that, any Muggle-born discovered won’t stand a chance,” Neville said. Ginny hated that he was right. According to previous information, the Department of Purity had been inventing new ways of specifically targeting, and tracking Muggle-borns. Once they had all the records sorted from the chaos of the war and the takeover of the old Ministry, there’d be nothing to stop them.

“But why? I thought the whole point was to purge Muggle-borns,” Seamus said.

“J.D. addresses that too,” McGonagall started, taking the parchment from Ginny. J.D. had been the signature on every letter they received. The rebels had no idea how these letters found them, and they were always encrypted with complex enchantments only McGonagall could decipher, yet they had correct and reliable information that saved their lives multiple times. “You-Know-Who desires to expand to the rest of Europe once everything is in his grasp completely here in Britain. Many of those on the Continent are going to be uneasy about needing to murder their entire Muggle-born populations. Super soldiers, ones he could use to threaten them or use to trade.”

“J.D. also wrote that You-Know-Who wants to lift the Statute of Secrecy, but Muggle-born super soldier he doesn’t care to lose could move easily through Muggle governments to weaken them before he strikes,” Ginny said.

Seamus recoiled in disgust.

“And how does he even hope to achieve this?” Neville asked. “There’s too many Muggle-borns to use the Imperius Curse on. They’d never maintain enough control.”

McGonagall sighed. “J.D. wrote that Valeria Malfoy has been given the task of developing a potion to do the job. She has apparently been quite useful in the creation of curses and potions for the Dark Lord. I’d imagine she’s working with Snape on the matter.”

“Apparently, You-Know-Who has charged Valeria Malfoy with the task of engineering a potion to do the job. A difficult task that will likely take her a long time, but they’ll start experimenting as soon as they can. I’m sure she’ll be working with Snape on the matter…” McGonagall said. Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she looked across the makeshift little room, deep underground right under the Burrow, at the bulletin board.

The bulletin board was divided into three sections; Confirmed dead, missing/unconfirmed dead and finally enemy targets; People who absolutely needed to die if they were to have any hope of ever winning this long fight that was sure to last for several more years to come at least. Photographs were included in each section. Harry Potter’s picture, for example, was at the top of the confirmed dead. Hermione and Ron were on the top of the missing section. Voldemort was at the top of the enemies’ section, naturally. Below him were the highest ranking, most important, older Death Eaters namely Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Yaxley and Lucius Malfoy although the last on that list had fallen in favor for the most part.

Below that tier were the proteges; The younger Death Eaters that, according to J.D. were being groomed to take over the older ones’ positions someday. Those photos included Theodore Nott, who was supposedly the best strategist; Blaise Zabini, who was gifted in gathering intelligence; and finally, Draco Malfoy who had a remarkable talent for violence, was the most ambitious of the three and was known to solve complex problems on the spot. Below them were others, but namely Valeria was the focus of Ginny attention.

Ginny hated Valeria Malfoy with every fiber of her remaining being.

Seamus was laughing. “I thought she was just Malfoy’s little broodmare—”

McGonagall gave Seamus a scolding look but did not vocally disagree. “They haven’t had an heir yet, but you should not underestimate Winters just because of her position. She’s intelligent and, according to J.D. anyway, well on her way to becoming a truly formidable dark witch. And we all know what lengths she’ll go to in order to neutralize threats…”

“McGonagall’s right,” Neville said. “The demure pureblood wife bit is just an act. It’s what got her through seventh year.”

Ginny remembered all too well the treachery of Valeria Malfoy, staring at the woman’s photograph across the room. Her creepy doll-like face, tainted by that scar, made her even more eerie looking. She was pretty, in a sort of uptight political way, but other than that unremarkable. Ginny couldn’t see what some of the boy in school saw in her. Ginny swallowed and viscerally remembered the way Valeria’s signature curse constricted her throat until she almost died in the middle of a corridor and no one had done anything to punish Valeria for the near murder. Underestimating Valeria could prove a fatal mistake.

After all, that’s what Valeria would want. The Winters were known, even when they were all alive and in their prime, for playing all sides of any conflict so they would be in good graces no matter who won out. It was a dangerous game, but they were unmatched at it, so much so that no one realized that their patriarch, Hieronymus, and his eldest son, Konstantin, were Death Eaters until they after they were killed in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Not even Valeria.

Ginny had to gulp down her impulse to hunt Valeria down and kill her. She had a sick fantasy she’d often play in her mind’s eye when she couldn’t sleep of slowly killing Draco in front of his wife. Nothing would have brought Ginny greater joy for as much as she hated Valeria, she hated Draco Malfoy more. Malfoy had handed Harry to Voldemort. He had cost them everything. It was because of Malfoy that only her mother lived in her all her family. Ginny and Seamus would often joke about who would get to kill Malfoy for he wanted vengeance for the murder of Dean Thomas.

Ginny had seen Draco once and only once since Voldemort’s victory. She had apparated to Aberforth after being wounded by Snatchers in a last-ditch effort to save her skin. Apparating home was out of the question as it would put her mother at risk. Molly had become frail of mind and body after the loss of most of her family and obsessively protective of Ginny. Molly had no idea that Ginny was working with the others on dangerous tasks and Ginny often had to dose her mother with sleeping draughts or spells before going on missions. Molly would have been hysterical if she knew.

Aberforth helped heal Ginny, but a masked and hooded Death Eater had appeared on his doorstep. Rather than ready to defend himself, Aberforth used a disillusion charm to hide Ginny before the Death Eater broke into the house. With a green flash of light, the Death Eater used the Killing Curse, which he cast wordlessly, on Aberforth right then and there. No trial, no explain, not even a word as to why Aberforth deserved to die. Ginny was weak and frail from her injuries, debating whether she had the strength to survive revealing herself and taking the Death Eater down. Capturing one would have been helpful for their fractured cause but killing him would have been fine with Ginny too. She watched the Death Eater rummage through the house, practically turning it upside down in his search. At one point, he removed his mask and ran his hand through his white-blond hair. Draco Malfoy.

He departed before she acted, and Ginny regretted it forever.

“So what? We just let the others rot in Azkaban?” Seamus asked. That was a hitch and one that made Ginny’s stomach lurch. Several pureblooded, or mostly pureblooded, supporters of Harry and the Order were locked up in Azkaban, held until they pledged their loyalty, or some other purpose was found for them. The purebloods were just far too valuable to outright kill, especially the younger ones. Luna Lovegood, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan and those were just the ones they could confirm. The thought of leaving them there longer than they absolutely had to revolted Ginny.

Ginny looked over to Harry’s photograph. He was so handsome, in a scruffy sort of way. The boy she loved, the boy who lived, the bravest person she had ever known. She thought of the question that she asked herself before choosing to do anything; _What would Harry want me to do?_

“Again,” Draco insisted.

They had been at it for hours, practicing combative magic in a room they had repurposed for dueling practice. They did this nearly every free evening alone they had, especially when they couldn’t sleep. They would teach each other dark curses and spar. Draco insisted she maintain her dueling skills, even if she would never have to see a fight. Tonight was different. Draco was tense, more aggressive. 

“I’m tired,” she started with a sigh. “I’ve been working all day; can we take a rest for now?” Orders from above had come through to make a several large batches of various potions by that very day, on top of her studies trying to improve the Tranquila Sesnus potion. She had completed the potions that were needed by that night, but the effort had exhausted her. Snape was of little use as the schoolyear had begun and he needed to spend more time at his post as Headmaster.

“No. I need to be ready,” he said, looking at the target he had just obliterated. He cast a repairing charm as his shoulders heaved with his breath. She put his hand on his shoulder to stop him and he flinched a little at her touch.

“Ready for what?”

He curled his lip inward, hesitant to say. “Tomorrow. Halloween. Godric’s Hollow will burn.”

She sighed. “So that’s what all those potions are for. I was wondering about all that Veritaserum.”

He nodded. “In case we take prisoners. Not that we usually do.”

She gently put her hand on his and coaxed his wand out of his hand. “All the more reason that you need your rest.”

Though he was still tense, his breath unsteady, he nodded slowly and accepted her small gestures of comfort. He fell asleep with his arm draped around her and his head on her chest while she lazily ran her hand through his hair. She couldn’t sleep, she never could knowing that he was about to enter danger. He always tried to wait to the last minute to tell her when he was set to depart on an assignment, so she would have less time to be consumed with worry. The crackling of the fire in the cool autumn night and the gentle pace of her breath was the only peace Draco could find in order to allow sleep to consume his exhausted spirit.

She did all she could not to show him her fear. Even while he slept, she stayed as strong as she could for his sake. She cried silently, gently, cradling his head in her left arm and her right hand on the arm that he rested on her torso. She held her cheek to the crown of his head as she let tears run down her face. She would have torn to pieces anyone who tried to rip him from her grasp.

But it was a fantasy. The idea of slaughtering anyone who would dare take him from her, put him in harm’s way and running off to the furthest reaches of the planet to be alone together for the rest of their natural lives was impossible in the hell that was now home. Indulging in these horrible daydreams brought her calm in those dread filled nights before Draco was going to depart for danger.

As evening fell the following day, the ritual was set to begin. It was similar to the ritual they performed upon Draco’s returns. Neither knew when it started, neither of them ever talked about it, but they performed it diligently each time all the same. It began as it always did, retreating to their spacious private quarters and making love as though it was the last time, as it very well could have been, for all they knew. They were tender, loving, but no less desirous and impassioned with one another. 

After washing up, Valeria went to the cupboard that contained Draco’s Death Eater robes and the mask that made up his uniform. Draco didn’t like the robes being included in his main wardrobe with his other garments. She retrieved them and helped him dress. He could have done it alone, naturally, but it was part of their routine by now. The robes were black as night with winding silver embroidering on the collar and torso. Valeria helped secure the silver-colored metal bracers that stopped just below his elbows, equipped with protective enchantments, to his forearms over his sleeves and black leather gloves. She secured a belt fitted with a knife for a weapon to him; The knife had been Bellatrix’s idea, a last resort in case he was disarmed.

She unrolled a tactical sash, a bandelier, and filled each slot with vials of potions, the ones she had been assigned to craft and had been distributed amongst the other Death Eaters. There were healing potions, Veritaserum, and even a few volatile ones that were explosive once activated by a blasting charm, amongst others. She strapped the bandelier to his torso and finished her work by fastening the hooded cloak around his collar. She gave him his wand, which he tucked into a pocket and it was finally time for the most important part of their routine.

She handed a goblet of the sweetest red wine they owned.

“It’s far more potent than before. This is going to be…unpleasant,” Valeria warned, having already mixed the potion into the wine to try and cover the vile taste. He took the cup, nodding.

“As long as it works, I don’t care,” he said. In one go, holding his breath and aiming the liquid toward the back of his tongue, he drank it down. His stomach lurched and his mouth felt like it was burning. He bent over, catching himself with a pained grunt on the back of the chair, gripping it hard. He felt her grab his shoulders to support as he fought the urge to vomit. He groaned in pain as he felt the liquid rush through his veins all over his body and a freezing sensation flowed through him, as if he had fallen through thin ice. His lungs felt as though they were freezing solid and soon the sensation went to his pounding heart. He coughed and gasped as he felt his heart harden in his chest.

Just when he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, it stopped. The pounding of his heart settled to a steady, calm pace. His breath was deep, but neither fast nor slow. A dead sort of calm overtook his anxieties, his pain, his fears. He steadied himself and rose to a stand, unsupported. He looked at his wife and could not relate to the concern in her expression. She was less striking in attractiveness to him. The warm air in the room was a bit less comforting and even the handsome décor of the chamber seemed completely unremarkable; Dull.

“Did it work?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

Draco searched himself for an answer. Physically he felt just fine but couldn’t put a word on an emotion for he felt absolutely neutral, painlessly empty. “I don’t feel anything.” Even his voice was devoid of feeling. He simply did not care.

She nodded though Draco registered something regretful in her eyes that he struggled now to understand. “Then the adjustments to the normal potion I give you are doing what they should.” She handed him his mask. “It’s nearly time.”

He nodded. Before he could put the mask on, she reached up to him and held his face and kissed him. He felt a surge of emotion in his chest for a split second, but it quickly evaporated to apathy.

“Come back,” she said. It was not a request; it was an outright command said through her teeth. He nodded.

“I always do.”

Lizzie Miller was terrified of the dark. Her dad always told her that she was a big girl now, all of seven years old, and she needed to be brave to overcome her fears. She tried her best and that would have to be enough. The dim lamp that served as a nightlight on her bedside table and the CD player that played her quiet, soothing songs throughout the night usually did the trick to peacefully lull her to sleep, but tonight was Halloween.

Her classmate, Sean Beyer, had tormented her all in the lead-up to Halloween with scary stories. He said that the village they lived in, Godric’s Hollow, was incredibly haunted. Even worse, he claimed that the old legends of witches in the village were true. He said villagers would often report unexplainable events, disappear and return without a single memory of what they had previously claimed to see. That many years ago, some dark entity did something horrible and destroyed a house, but it was covered up by the other witches that roamed the village. Sean claimed you never knew who was a witch, as they pretended to be normal people. Anyone in the village could be a witch or a warlock.

As fog descended in the crisp autumn night, Lizzie held the covers tight to her and jumped every time the radiator clicked on or the wind gusted against the window a little too hard. _“There’s nothing in the night that isn’t there during the day, sweetheart,”_ her mother insisted. Lizzie repeated it in her head over and over to remind herself, but the childish fear still consumed her. There was a low, gentle string arrangement playing on the CD player, both dark and calming. She concentrated all her energy on it, trying to find peace.

As her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, the CD started skipping and she could hear a quiet clicking as the lamplight flickered. Her eyes flew open and in the moonlight seeping in through the window, diffused by the fog and cloudy sky outside, saw dark mist swirling in the room near the foot of her bed. The wisps came together, forming black clouds and she jumped so much her stuffed cat fell to the floor with a soft thud. She whimpered a little cry, scooting herself to press against her headboard. The black cloud was in front of the bedroom door.

The cloud took more shape, she could see through her tears. It began to take the form of a monster. No, not a monster. A man. A tall, lean man all in black with his back to her and a hood over his head. He held a long, carved stick in his hand.

Sean was right.

Warlocks were real.

The man turned and Lizzie’s heart pounded in panic to see a shining metal mask on the man’s face. She opened her mouth to scream, but he pointed the stick at her and as hard as she tried, no sound escaped her throat. He pointed the stick at his face the mask disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. He lowered his hood as he approached her and seeing his face did nothing to soothe her fears as she kept trying to scream, her face red and tears and mucus running down her face.

He stared at her for a moment, standing over her by her bed. He had the lightest hair she had ever seen, that looked white in the light of the moon and a hard face comprised of pointed features. As he approached, her heart skipped a beat to meet. His gaze was so cold, almost dead. He pointed his stick at the skipping CD player and the music played as normal, if not a little louder. He bent over and picked up the stuffed cat that had fallen, holding it out to her. He put his fingers to his lips to shush her as she, trembling, took it from him. He paused for a moment, staring at her, before inhaling sharply and grabbing her arm hard.

Suddenly, she was out in a dark field just beyond the village, the cover on her bed still wrapped around her. Able to use her voice she cried, whimpering in fear and confusion. She turned with a cry at a hand gripping her shoulder. The warlock had his mask on once more. He leaned in close, the mask inches from her little face.

“Whatever you here, don’t look back,” he said, his cold voice echoing behind his mask. She could only whimper in reply as he forced her to turn round again. Looking just over her shoulder, she saw him disappear in a cloud of black smoke and disappear into the darkness just as he had arrived.

She shivered in cold and fear as she stayed obediently rooted to the spot. She did not know how much time had passed when a quick succession of loud booms shattered the silence of the night. Light broke through the darkness behind her and she could see ahead her own shadow stretching long across the field, surrounded by flickering, dancing orange light. She could hear the crackling and crashing of burning in the distance behind her.

The child psychologist assigned to Lizzie’s case would later tell her grandparents how fortunate it was that Lizzie sleepwalked out of bonds of the destruction and the police believed the man she claimed to have seen was merely a manifestation of a coincidental nightmare.

There was no such thing as warlocks.

Valeria drank while Godric’s Hollow burned.

She wandered around Malfoy Manor with a goblet of wine in hand, summoning the house elf to refill it wherever she was when it was it was empty. She made it all the way down to the entrance hall, lined with great portraits of solemn Malfoy ancestors. She could feel their eyes on her, and she hated the lot of them. She hoped they were happy with what had become of the Malfoy legacy. She stopped and turned to her left, seeing her own portrait.

She was only a few months married, still seventeen years old, when it was painted as a Christmas gift for Narcissa. Her image sat, whilst Draco’s had his left hand on her right shoulder, and Valeria now realized that this was probably the last image of her before Bellatrix gave her the scar she’d bear until her death. Elegant and dark both in dress and posture, they were. Their expressions in the painting so severe that one could be forgiven for thinking it was painted after a funeral. This portrait was one of the few that hardly moved. Their painted figures never spoke. They never left each other’s side. Even now, they both stared at the real, now a little older, Valeria as if expecting her to do something.

She hated that goddamn painting most of all.

“I know the feeling.”

Valeria nearly dropped the wine goblet in surprise at the sudden intrusion. She turned, seeing her mother approach to stand at her side. Odessa Winters who had grayed long ago but wore her lovely silver hair perfectly. It appeared to be one of Odessa’s good nights, where she was sane for a while, though Valeria could never be sure.

“I used to pace around all night during the first war while your brother slept, and your father was out there. I never stopped walking until he came home,” Odessa said before swallowing. “I was even more restless when Konstantin was out there too.”

“Did you ever want to be out there with him?” Valeria asked.

“Of course. Even more so after your brother took the Mark. But I knew my place, just as you know yours,” Odessa said. Valeria hated being reminded of her place. She had dreams as a teenager. She had wanted to work in the Department of Mysteries studying to most ancient and least understood secrets of magic. She wanted to see the world, she wanted to learn, she wanted to be admired and break ground in her work. What was she now but another housewife drinking the hours away until her husband came home? “I’m proud of you. You’ve done so well. So much better than I ever could have imagined, especially under your circumstances.”

Valeria looked at her mother who she strongly resembled and realized with regret how much like Odessa she had become. She resented her mother who stood by and did nothing while she was handed over as Draco’s wife like a living trophy. Who didn’t come find her to protect after Hieronymus and Konstantin were killed in the Department of Mysteries before her eyes. Who throughout the war and even now helped smooth over public opinion by writing articles and society magazine spreads filled with lies to solidify Valeria’s position as the model for a Death Eater’s wife.

“Do you think father would be proud of me?” Valeria sked pointedly. Odessa didn’t pick up on the disdain in Valeria’s tone as she put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Of course, he would. Don’t you understand? This is what we trained you for your entire life. All the glamours, all the etiquette training, the dance lessons, the tutors, introducing you early on into society. We didn’t do that for us, we did it to prepare you for this, your future. And someday, hopefully soon, you’ll do the same for your children. You’ve performed perfectly, darling. Other than that tragic scar, you’re perfect.”

If the goblet in Valeria’s hand were made of glass and not metal, it would have shattered in Valeria’s angry grasped. _Perfect_? How the hell did Odessa figure that? Where was Odessa when she was used as a bartering chip to motivate Draco into murdering Dumbledore? Where was Odessa when she and Draco were married off as terrified teenagers, arguing all the time at each other’s throats? Where was she when the Dark Lord called upon Valeria to torture Konstantin’s Muggle-born ex-lover and then killed her before her very eyes? When she had to torture and torment her fellow students at Hogwarts? When she nearly murdered Ginny Weasley in the corridor or unknowingly assisted in the kidnapping of Luna Lovegood? When she thought she was with child while still a student? When the Winters’ assets came under the Malfoy name? Where was Odessa all the times she had been tortured, tormented and broken over and over?

Where was Odessa Winters when Bellatrix Lestrange carved up Valeria’s face for refusing to identify Harry Potter?

She wasn’t there. No one was. Lucius and Narcissa had only been complicit in all of it, even as what goodness left in their own son wilted away like a sun-starved plant. Konstantin tried and he died for it. Odessa never cared about Valeria’s heart so long as she was outwardly perfect. That was the Winters way; Appearances, and only appearances, mattered. The price was your soul. The only person who was ever there was Draco. And who was Draco now but a mess of _what ifs_ and internal agony that rotted him from the inside out and at the end of it all was overcomplicated regret; and all for the sake of her?

Even now, Draco was out there. Fighting, committing atrocities he would never have the heart to tell her about in order to preserve their position and protect _her_. That was why he handed Potter over in the first place. He damned the entire world, made himself responsible for the deaths of perhaps hundreds by now, for her.

What Valeria resented most was that Odessa was right. The training, the glamours, how easily maintaining grace and manipulating those around her came to her had saved Valeria’s life more than once. Playing nice, feigning innocence, preserving her reputation in accordance with the values of her family gave her the privileged position that now shielded her. The Winters’s decades long friendship with the Malfoys and their mutual goals had given her Draco. Affection, acceptance, tolerance, and too much tender loving care would have left Valeria dead long ago.

Before Valeria could respond to her mother, a popping sound went through the room and the women turned to see Draco taking off his mask. His black robes had been turned grayer with ash and he smelled of death and smoke. He stood there, calm, resolute as if nothing were amiss.

“It’s done,” he said.


	7. Dark Patronus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Reference to mass violence. Death/discussion of death. Suicidal thoughts. Mention/discussion of suicide.

**Summer 1998**

Draco was out on assignment and Valeria was restless. After being apart for so many torturous weeks, it was hard to even spend a single night alone without him. The world was too big, too frightening and uncertain when they were apart. Without him, she reverted to a terrified little girl. She had arrived to Hogsmeade late one night. The alarms did not go off for she was no longer being hunted down. There was activity in the Three Broomsticks, no doubt Death Eaters there to protect the castle. Pulling up her hood higher, she stalked into the dark towards the castle, which no was a black shadow against the dark sky in the distance.

It took until her seventh year for her to appreciate Hogwarts. So many of her peers had marveled at it and treated the castle with a sense of divine awe that she never understood. It was just a school, one of many across the wizarding world. It was famous, sure, well-respected, but just a school all the same. To so many, it was a place of endless possibly. To her it was just a line in a script written for her before she was born:

  * Learn the values of her family. Learn to uphold them.
  * Attend Hogwarts. Be sorted into Slytherin as every other Winters before her.
  * Do well in class. Forge bonds with others, particularly her peers in Slytherin. Perhaps find a significant interest in a subject.
  * Pursue that subject. Attain an influential position.
  * Marry well.
  * Raise her children with the values of her family and teach her children to uphold them.



It was so simple that she had never given it much thought. It was all so neat and tidy. So long as she did her duty, her life would turn out a success. How wrong she had been. How correct she had been. It was hard to say now. The castle seemed to grow in size as she drew closer. Voldemort had made quick work in repairing it and preparing it for another school year. Snape had apparently floated the idea of waiting a year, taking time for the world to recover, but the Dark Lord was eager to solidify his hold on the world and the school. It had to be ready by September. Vacant positions were quickly filled, the walls themselves quickly repaired and all the Dark Lord’s many, many changes quickly instated.

The world hadn’t even had a chance to catch its breath.

Looking up at it now, she realized how much the castle had meant to her, more than she could ever know in her tenure as a student. She cast her first spells there. She fell in love with potions, high mysteries, magical theory and magical philosophy there. She grew up there, forged bonds with her closest friends there. She had danced there. She had sung there. She fell in love for the first time there, stupidly and childishly, but love all the same. Her first kiss had been there. So many days laughing in the corridors, playing games in the common room, studying and reading, celebrating and being silly.

She had also rebelled first rebelled there. First realized the darkest secrets of her families past that she should have already known. She had nearly murdered two people there. She had found sanctuary in the castle’s abandoned classrooms and secret rooms. She had watched it turned from mundane to hell in just one summer. She now did not know what to make of it.

But her purpose tonight was clear, if anything. Draco had told her once, and only once, what happened after he brought her back to Malfoy Manor. He told her to listen close for he would never speak of it again. He told her who died and how. Who he had killed. The blood. So much blood. Unbeknownst to her, tonight was the first of many attempts to make something right. To make some sort of half-hearted amends. To leave no debt unpaid, as her father taught her.

Despite her safety as a result of her pardon and her freedom to now roam unsupervised, she was unsurprised to see a crossbow pointed at her face when the door to Hagrid’s hut swung open. He went pale to see her there. She didn’t even bother to draw her wand.

“You,” he said with rightful disdain. “What d’you wan’?”

“Show me the graves,” she said, devoid of emotion. She stared at him, undeterred by his disgust. She never much liked Hagrid. He was odd and oafish. She despised Care of Magical Creatures, having always been more of an indoor girl, but she didn’t hate the man himself. She didn’t care much about him one way or another, especially now. When Draco had abandoned her the night Dumbledore died, it had been Hagrid who had lifted her to her feet and urged her back into the castle after she confronted Draco. She didn’t try to understand it, but knew Hagrid was close to Potter.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Why?”

“I just want to see them, Professor,” she said. He was taken aback by how she addressed him. As much as she disliked his teaching, it was still his title, so it seemed.

“Yer not gonna try t’ do anythin’…unnatural, are yeh?” he asked.

“I just want to see them. I can’t go in there alone,” she said, nodding her head towards the forest. He looked her up and down with suspicion, peaking outside and around for anyone else who may have been hiding to surprise him. “I’m alone. Completely alone. It wouldn’t be wise for you to deny my request, sir.”

She hadn’t wanted to resort to vague threats. If it was made widely known that she was here, it would take time to smooth over, though it would not have been impossible. Hagrid, on the other hand, had fewer cards of fortune in his hand than she did and could not have afforded to deny her. He lowered the weapon and nodded.

“Gimme a minute,” he said, shutting the door on her and leaving her on the doorstep for a minute or two. She looked up at the castle, almost completely dark, nearly every light in the place snuffed out. A ghostly silhouette on the starry sky. When Hagrid opened the door, he had his crossbow on his back and his hiking gear on. He carried a lantern in his hand and his dog was at his side. He moved past her without looking at her. “Stay close.”

She followed him into the forest, her wand illuminated as bright as it would go. She was capable of defending herself, but the forest was a dangerous place even for the most knowledgeable and gifted sorcerers. Going in alone would have been suicide. She needed someone who knew the place well enough to guide her and the only person alive or dead she could think of was Hagrid.

“You’ve retained your position,” she said absentmindedly in the agonizing silence of the forest that sent chills down her spine. Hagrid merely grunted in acknowledgement. She thought Hagrid would have done the wise thing and fled. She wondered if he had a choice in the matter. After a long silence, Hagrid spoke again. “Someone’s gotta stay. Someone’s gotta protect the young’uns comin’ in.” He spoke with heartbreak in his tone.

So that’s why he stayed. Valeria severely doubted that he’d be much use in the face of the new regime. It wasn’t his fault; No one alone was of much use anymore. At least Hagrid was determined to try. That was more than could be said of her and she knew it better than anyone. Fortunately, they didn’t have much further to walk. He stopped in a large grove.

“They’re all here,” he said, and she could hear him holding back tears. It was striking how quickly nature retook this ground, crawling just beneath their feet with rot and death. She could hardly tell this part of the forest from any other. She took a step forward.

“Tell me who and where,” she said. Hagrid reluctantly pointed to a low mound in the ground.

“Lupin’s there,” he said. She immediately went to it. This time last year she hated Lupin’s guts, but he had tried to make amends. He had done her more than one kindness before his life ended, ripped apart by the werewolf who cursed him. A terrible way to die. And now his son was fatherless. His wife had tried to be kind to her too, she saw now. She aimed her wand at his resting place and cast a spell silently. Rocks in the area came together and formed a neat stone plaque bearing his initials.

“Another,” she said when she was finished. Hagrid was surprised but complied. He pointed out the mass grave for the faculty who had been slaughtered. She created there a stone plaque with all their initials as well. Next was the students, there were multiple mass graves for them. Hagrid gave her all their names and with each name an initial was added to the plaques she created. Hagrid remembered them all, even names that she had never bothered to learn as their classmate. He had buried each and every one of them himself. The bodies were not permitted to go back to their families even.

“That’s the Weasleys,” he said, on the verge of sobbing. The Weasleys. They never liked her. Two summers she had been forced to stay with them, supposedly for her own safety, in the hovel they called a home. But some of them tried. She vaguely remembered one of the twins being nice to her once, but the memory was all foggy. Perhaps she had imagined it. They didn’t deserve to die like that. She magically placed a plaque bearing a _W_ where they lay.

“More,” she ordered. He directed her to another mass grave which included Justin Finch-Fletchley and Dean Thomas. Draco had killed them himself. She barely ever said two words to Dean and all she knew of Justin in school was that he was annoying. She gave them their plaque without a word. For a great while it went like this until each and every grave was marked. Valeria magically summoned some earth and forest debris about the place so to make the place look undisturbed, in case anyone was to stumble on the place. Though one needed to only brush some dirt and leaves out of the way to see the stones.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll be on my way. I promise this will be the last you see of me,” she said. She turned, preparing to apparate out of the forest as all the enchantments around Hogwarts, save for the Muggle determent ones, had been taken down.

“Winters…” Hagrid said. She turned back to him.

“Malfoy,” she corrected. She could see his tear-stained face twist in disgust in the light of her wand.

“I’m not ever sayin’ that name!” he said. She held back a defeated smirk. The name of Malfoy had become just as foul as _Voldemort_. She didn’t need to ask why.

“What is it, Hagrid?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to leave this place as soon as possible.

“Yeh don’t gotta go back. Not if yeh don’t wan’,” he said. She raised an eyebrow at him. Did he know something? Was he offering her a way out? She shook off her curiosity quickly. The less she knew, the safer Hagrid would be. She had to wonder why he was offering something, whatever it was, to her of all people.

“No one else needs to die for my sake, Professor. I accept what’s happened. All of it,” she said. He looked down, letting tears fall, knowing and being perfectly alright with the fact that not one fell for her. It would not just be Hagrid’s life she was saving by refusing, but more importantly to her, Draco’s too. She could not abandon him after he had done what he had done to get her a pardon. She doubted she could last long away from him. Whatever the case, she had no desire to be without him, even if she had to be with him in hell.

She apparated away without a goodbye. That night had been the second time she had given into her morbid compulsion to show some grace and mercy to the dead or suffering. It was a purely selfish enterprise, a pathetic attempt to try and make her feel better about the world plunged into darkness for her sake.

**November 2002**

Valeria asked Draco what happened to the Muggles who lived in the village of Godric’s Hollow.

“It wasn’t my call, Valeria,” was all he said.

Muggles did not return to Godric’s Hollow either. Enchantments were placed all around the area to deter them. When Valeria arrived the day of the ceremony, it was still a ruin. Snow had slowly started to fall, but the ground was still too warm for it to stick. It fell to disappear onto structures blackened by fire and onto what debris still remained in the streets. The wizarding population hadn’t returned either, even those who had survived the massacre.

She hated graveyards but milling about before the dedication of the new memorial to Voldemort’s victory, she wandered into the one in Godric’s Hollow. The Potters’ graves had been blasted apart, the contents scattered without care or consideration, without ceremony. In the rubble she noticed a familiar symbol on one of the pieces and recognized it to be the same one that had been on the pendant she had taken from Xenophilius Lovegood after ending his life as mercy. Draco joined her, to collect her for the ceremony. His black coat was up to his chin and he looked absolutely drained, paler than usual, making the pink in his cheeks and the tip of his nose, due to the chilly air, stand out more. He pulled his scarf out from under his coat and wrapped it around her neck. Her shoulders relaxed into its warmth. Her skin had gone a bit numb in the cold, even under her cloak, and she had not realized how cold she was.

“I forgot mine,” she said honestly regarding her own scarf. He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them to make some warmth, a forlorn expression on his face as he looked down at her. He wouldn’t look down at the destroyed graves. She was taken aback by his tenderness now; it was hard to think of him as gentle anymore. He reached a gloved hand up and gently brushed snow out of her hair before pulling her hood up over face.

“It looks like the ashes,” he whispered grievously. “We better take our places.” He put an arm around her shoulder and escorted her to where the crowd of high-ranking Death Eaters and their spouses had gathered before the Potter memorial. Rita Skeeter and several photographers were there too. Valeria watched, feeling as though she had left her body and her soul drifted elsewhere, somewhere warm, as Voldemort gleefully used a blasting charm to explode the statue of the parents and infant son. She flinched hard at the sound of destruction while many of the others cheered or applauded. All she could hear was the sound of falling stone at the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco’s grasp on her shoulder squeezed her to bring her back.

“Muggles once hunted us to burn us, it is only fitting that we have returned the favor!” the Dark Lord proclaimed. Waving his wand with showmanship he reshaped the rubble to form a great statue of himself with Nagini coiled around him and his wand raised victoriously to the sky. He was staking his claim, marking his continued victory over Harry Potter and over this world that was now his.

A few days later Valeria was reading in the Malfoy library. One of the advantages of living in Malfoy Manor was access to the library full of rare books of darker magic in addition to the ones she had brought from her family’s estate in Wales. She was reading an old, tedious, book for research into innovative curses that she had been working with Snape on creating while cauldrons bubbled away in her laboratory downstairs. The boredom was driving her into an early grave when a paragraph caught her attention.

_It is common knowledge amongst experienced sorcerers that the strength of emotions can often determine the strength of the incantation. While most fields of study impress on the importance of positive emotions for the desired utility and impact of a spell, there are several cases, notably the Torture Curse, where the strength of the negative emotion is the determining factor of successful casting. Zukowski has expanded on this, purely in theory, suggesting that channeling negative thoughts and feelings into casting can alter results of various spells, regardless of whether they are light or dark. Memories, pain, grief and anger are strong enough to perhaps achieve this. Zukowski boldly suggest that it may be possible to do accomplish this in even the lightest of cases, such as Patronus Charms, though, as of publication, there is no research to support this claim…_

A knock interrupted her, and she called for the disrupter to enter. Snape came into the room and she set the book down, still opened, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Where’s Tinky? He’s supposed to ask before letting people wander in?” she said.

“Well, I’m very sorry to disturb you then,” Snape said sarcastically.

“Never mind,” she said. Valeria was territorial over Malfoy Manor, sometimes to the point of paranoia, from having the place overrun with Voldemort and the Death Eaters at the height of the war. She collected some papers from a desk and handed them to Snape. “Here are the new formulas I’ve been working on. Purely theoretical for now.”

Snape took them and had a seat, taking his sweet time in reviewing her work for the improvements of the Tranquila Sensus potion. He was silent and devoid of emotion as he read through the parchments, and she felt like she was a student all over again, having her work painstakingly evaluated for a grade.

“Professor?” she asked. He let out a low grunt in acknowledgement. “Are you able to conjure a Patronus?”

“Yes."

“Corporeal?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I was reading. I know strong, happy memories are the source of a Patronus’s viability. This book, it suggested it might be possible to conjure a dark version of the Patronus with unhappy memories, at least, I think that’s what it said. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Planning on fighting any dementors soon?”

“No,” she said. “You and I both know that Patronuses can do more than that.”

Snape shifted. “I suppose it’s possible. I could always simply teach you the Patronus Charm if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Fine. Then to the matter at hand. What is this variable here meant to represent?” he asked, pointing to one of the formulas she had conceived.

“Before you scold me about that, let me find that book…” she said, looking around the room, but was once more interrupted by a knock.

“Come in!” she called. Theodore Nott came into the room and Valeria sighed. “How’d you get through the gate? Where’s that damn house elf—”

Stoic as ever, Theodore raised his brow at her. He was an intimidating man without doing much to try. If Valeria hadn’t known him so long, she might have been afraid of him. He was always the tallest boy in their class, lanky and with sharp features, his eyes nearly as dark as his hair. “Lucius let me in. Wasn’t happy about doing ‘house elf’s work’ either, he claimed. Apparently, the elf’s working with your mum and Mrs. Malfoy planning the Christmas party.”

Valeria let out a small, frustrated groan. “It’s not even December.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Valeria. Professor Snape, good to see you,” Nott said. Snape nodded to Nott as he greeted him in return. “I’ve been trying to hunt down what you asked for, Valeria. The only lead I found was Borgin who had a rather strange story. Apparently, years ago, there was some kind of break-in at his shop and while chasing out the burglars, they dropped a few of them. Once he confirmed what they were, the idiot sold them on the black market, and they’ve been lost ever since. I’m trying to track them down, but it doesn’t look promising.”

“Dammit,” Valeria said. “Perhaps we can find some from the creature itself—”

“I thought of that too, but the things are so damn rare and so long-lived that they barely ever breed. If there’s even one still alive, it could take years to find and we don’t have years to wait,” Nott said. “I’m still looking. I’ve let my contacts in the black market know to spread word that if any are discovered to bring them to my office at once under punishment with failure to comply.”

“I’m a bit confused by Borgin’s story. How do petty burglars get a hold of basilisk fangs?” Valeria said.

Snape rose from his seat, setting the parchments aside. “Basilisk fangs?” Even when he was surprised, he sounded completely calm.

“Yes, Professor, basilisk fangs,” she said.

“I have no idea. I tried to get it out of him, had to push further than I would have liked to, but it’s his own damn fault for being so wildly stupid and irresponsible. He seemed to be telling the truth about what happened though. He never got a good look at the intruders. A man and a woman, that’s all we know, and it was years ago. They could be long dead by now,” Nott said with a shrug.

Valeria sighed. “Well, I appreciate the effort anyway.” She took a pause. “How’s Tracey?”

Tracey Davis had been in Valeria’s cohort in school and, back then, was one of her closest friends. But Tracey always had the weakest stomach of the group. She was the gentlest, the most soft-spoken. She and Nott had marked each other in their top spousal preferences and Valeria had given them what they wished. An odd pair that proved to be a good match. Nott’s stoic detached demeanor balanced Tracey’s softness and Nott appreciated Tracey’s preference for a quiet, undramatic life. However, Valeria had not seen Tracey in a long time. She hardly left the home she shared with her husband, even for official events and Nott was able to ensure they got away with it, for Tracey’s own sake. Tracey would fall apart at the least of the horrors Valeria had witnessed in stride.

“She’s well. I’ll send her your regards,” he said.

“Good. Tell her I’d love to see her at the Christmas party, if she’s willing,” Valeria said.

He nodded with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I will.”

Nott department after a quick farewell to both Valeria and Snape. She turned to face the Hogwarts Headmaster once more, who eyed her with a scolding, suspicious look, clearly not pleased.

“Do you mind telling me what you intend to do accomplish with basilisk fangs?” he asked with the utmost severity. She rummaged around a table to find her brother’s old book and flipped to a marked page before handing it to him.

“It’s all there. Because basilisks live so long, if I can get a hold of a fang, extract and then dilute the venom down, I can both strengthen the solution’s potency and the genetic material from the fang itself can make the change permanent, which some careful wandwork of course,” Valeria explained as Snape read. He was silent as he considered, clearly unconvinced.

“I thought someone of your aptitude would have enough of a knowledge to be aware of how incredibly dangerous and volatile the use of basilisk fangs and venom is,” he said.

“You looked at the other formulas. Those options are far less certain in their result than this would be. I’m aware the process is dangerous and the solution itself runs the risk of being overpowering, but it’s the best option I can see for what the Dark Lord wants,” she said. “Am I not perfectly qualified to do this—”

“No, you are not. Not if your confidence makes you reckless,” Snape said firmly.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if I can’t even get a hold of one, does it?” she snapped. “I’m going to have to go to Borgin myself. I can’t believe he let multiple specimens slip through his—”

“Nott is a marked Death Eater, you are not. If he could not pull anything more useful from Borgin, it’s safe to assume Borgin has nothing more useful to offer.”

“I can ask Draco. He and Lucius have done business with Borgin for years, they have a report—”

Snape slammed the book down on one of the tables and marched over to Valeria. “You will not send your husband out to torture a man into give him in answers he does not have. Not only is wildly irresponsible, but it is a waste of everyone’s time! You would be wise to remember your place—”

“I beg your pardon!”

“We are all servants of the Dark Lord, but some of us outrank others, Winters,” Snape said through his teeth, using her maiden name to her surprise. “The only reason you walked out of Hogwarts alive was because Draco hand delivered the Dark Lord his victory. You are entitled to nothing.”

“I have been given an assignment and it will be my head if I don’t do my duty by any means necessary,” she said with a disdainful sneer.

“Sic’ing your husband on shopkeepers is not in your proper authority. If anything, you should be working to reel Draco in.”

“Why? I’m not his commander—”

“You are his wife. You, for whatever reason, are one of the very few people he still listens to.”

“And why are you suggesting I need to reel him in?”

Snape took a breath. “He’s getting reckless, much like you.”

“Draco has done nothing but faithfully fulfill each and every order given to him—!” she said, immediately on the defensive like a cornered animal.

“I’m speaking of his actions done by his own decision, not what he’s done under orders. The Goyle matter was an idiotic—”

“Pansy killed herself because of what he did to her!” Valeria shouted so loud that it hurt her throat. It had happened months ago, but it still sent Valeria into a fury to hear it spoken of like this. “She was innocent! She was my friend and Draco’s too. We’ve always looked after our own—!”

“Goyle is one of our own as well!” Snape said. “Infighting amongst the ranks is far more dangerous than any other threat to our cause. Draco should consider himself lucky that the Dark Lord sees so much value in him and not as much in Goyle. Otherwise, I doubt you would have ever seen Draco again after what he did.”

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted, panicking at the thought of losing Draco and being left alone in this nightmare.

“I dare because you need to hear it! What Draco did was not in the interest of the cause; It was personal. He cannot allow his emotions to get in the way of what his position needs him to be. Don’t pretend you don’t see it too. His quickness to violence is a liability not an asset to—”

“He’s always had a temper, even in school. You remember—”

“I remember the frightened child who had Dumbledore caught in a trap and still could not manage to fulfill his duty even as he watched them torture you. You know this is different. Your potion might help make him into an unrelenting savage, but there is more to it than that. You know it too.” 

Valeria was on the verge of tears for the first time in a long time. Draco was careful that she never saw him at his work. He tried hard to keep the capacity of his violence from. He didn’t scare her, but Snape’s insinuation did.

“What happened with Pansy was different. Goyle beyond deserved what Draco did. She was your student too, don’t you remember? Did she not matter at all? Is all she was, what the rest of are, just inconsequential broodmares!?”

“There are some that might think so, among them possibly your own father-in-law, given his disappointment around your situation,” he said.

Seething on the verge of being sick she stared hatefully into him. “How dare you speak to me in such a disgusting—”

“As vile as I too find such attitudes, I am being honest with you. I am trying to warn you. You are first and foremost the Dark Lord’s servant and second you are Draco Malfoy’s wife. Your intellectual gifts while, in my opinion, are quite valuable, what is asked of you because of them is secondary.”

Valeria was nearly shaking in rage. The realization of her own worthlessness made her wish herself dead.

The door opened and Valeria nearly lost her mind.

“Where is that goddamn house elf!?” she shouted as she turned to see Draco in the doorway, stunned in surprise.

“Good to see you too, darling, how was your day?” he said sarcastically, a poorly timed joke, unbeknownst to him. That was until he saw Valeria’s teary eyes and desperate expression. His expression darkened and his eyes narrowed. Valeria saw the ruthlessness that Snape had only just moments ago mentioned as Draco marched forward, stepping between her and Snape.

“Valeria, go,” Draco said.

“We have things to attend to,” she said quietly and truthfully.

“Go.”

“You don’t get to order me around like your dog,” she snapped a little, wounded by her conversation with Snape. Draco turned and took her by the arm gently and brought his face closer to hers.

“Go.”

The tone in his voice and the unforgivingly chilling look in his eyes softened her resolve. She wasn’t frightened of him, but he meant his command. She nodded slowly and pulled from him, marching out of the room and slamming the door without so much as a word to Snape.

Draco turned, targeting his unmerciful gaze at Snape.

“What did you say to her?”


	8. Wise Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild implied violence. Poor prison conditions. Forced/arranged marriage. Mention of death.

** June 1998 **

****

The world was still reeling, and Valeria avoided the chambers she shared with Draco like the plague.

Draco had returned before dawn after doing the Dark Lord’s will on some assignment. He didn’t tell her what he had done. He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. He needed to be alone for a while as he could barely look her in the eyes. That left her alone in a sitting room of Malfoy Manor trying to read a book or pacing or staring out blankly at the grounds outside. Any distraction she chose was just never quite enough to make her unclench her jaw.

Even summer was cold. Even on the brightest of days where she longed to feel the rays of the sun on her face, she could not bear to step outside. The world was too uncertain. There was too much danger. She thought of the last time she felt the sun on her skin, but the memory would bubble to the surface of her consciousness. It was somewhere, not that long ago. It was somewhere far away that she did not recognize. There was water there. Why would this memory not form itself into completion at her mind’s command?

“Madam Malfoy?” Tinky shyly asked. Valeria hadn’t even noticed the door creek open. “Sorry to have startled you—”

“What is it?”

“You have a visitor. Headmaster Snape is here.”

“Tell him Draco is indisposed.”

“He’s here to see you, he says, Madam Malfoy.”

How Snape, with all the duties surely now thrusted upon him, had the time to talk to her or for what purpose was beyond her, but she granted the house elf permission to send Snape in. She quickly adjusted her robes and her posture, calling upon her mother’s lifelong lessons of poise and conversation to use as a shield against the fear she felt about everything around her.

Snape was ever his cool, collected self when he entered the sitting room, dismissing Tinky immediately. Valeria gestured for him to sit across from her.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Professor. How can I be of service?” Valeria asked quietly as if reading from a prepared script.

“Being meek will not serve you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Snape said. She was jarred by the comment but had nothing to rebut it with. “I am taking time from repairing and refashioning Hogwarts to check on your well-being. Lucius mentioned that you have not left the house since you were safely returned here. Draco did not provide much of an answer when I asked him myself.”

“I’m doing well,” she lied.

“You may be able to fool your families and _The Prophet_ with ease, but you will not fool me,” he said. He stared at her something strange. It was intense, angry, as if his eyes were begging something of her, trying to find something, that she did not know was there. “Your self-imposed confinement must come to an end.”

“I merely wish to stay out of the way of things that are above me, Professor,” she said. That was a half-truth. She longed to be forgotten by the wicked of the world. The Dark Lord had forgotten her marriage, the sacrifice of her father and brother, even her coerced betrayal through being kidnapped by Potter. The worst of her life was mundane, unnoteworthy, to him. She hoped that she herself could fall into such a state, to be completely forgotten in exchange for a wink of peace.

“You don’t think someone like you can do so forever, do you?” Snape said. It was a warning, but she registered it as a threat. “You’ve been useful. You are the poster-woman of the Dark Lord’s values and you have been successful, despite the complications. Your ingenuity in Potions and dark magic is not a secret, and your husband is the one who delivered us our victory, Mrs. Malfoy. Better for you to show yourself now than to cower behind you husband—”

“I’m not cowering!” she snapped.

“Is that so? You lock yourself up in these rooms while Draco is the one risking his life and mind with every task he’s given. He cannot continue on like this without your intervention. I know that you know this,” Snape said.

“He wanted me to stay out of it. Draco said he wanted me to stay away from…all that,” Valeria said. Snape took a deep breath.

“And when has that ever worked for you, Miss Winters?”

She swallowed. Her hands slightly trembled. As usual, Snape was right. Her family had kept her in the dark for so long, only for it all to come crashing down on her. Her brother had tried to shield her, only for him to die for it. Draco had tried to keep her out, keep her in the dark, but she intervened regardless to her near doom. Now the two of them were so tightly woven together that even the notion of parting from him for too long induced her nightmares.

It had been the deal. It had been Draco’s express command that she do nothing in service of the new order unless absolutely necessary. His goal was to keep her away. Her safety came at the price of his sanity as he did the Dark Lord’s bidding, Draco’s crimes and atrocities piling up into a barricade for her to hide behind. Snape was right. She could not allow it to go on.

“And what would you have me do, Professor?”

“Rise to your station, Winters. Soften the blows.”

**December 2002**

Valeria was still caged, just not physically and not self-imposed. Still, it was difficult to justify her dissatisfaction with her station. She was alive, which was more than many others could say. That had been the goal since she was sixteen; she and Draco keeping each other alive. The promise had never been to keep each other happy or healthy. Just breathing and heart beating.

It was even more difficult to claim she was somehow caged when she freely walked about Diagon Alley. The streets were still bare, though shops still remained. An air of fear and dread hung over the place, suffocating nearly all hope and life. Wandless people, Muggleborns who had had their wands taken away, begged at the side of the road, but none yet dared to approach her. She could not look at them, using her hood as blinders for her peripheral vision. They would be the first experimental victims for the substance she was tasked to brew, she knew. It was only a matter of time.

She heard a quick shuffling as she entered Borgin and Burke’s and behind the counter found Borgin himself smiling through his anxiety, ringing his hands. Trading in dark artifacts had improved and his business prospered, but that was all the improvement Borgin saw in his life, it seemed.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said with some surprise as she lowered her hood. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.” He was lying through his teeth. She could hear it in his voice. Draco’s reputation had preceded him and fall thusly upon her. That notion aggravated her, as her reputation, won all on her own had for a long time been her most valued asset. “What can I do for you today?”

“I spoke with Theodore Nott recently, he claims that you let a few specimens of priceless basilisk fangs slip through your grasp sometime back and—”

His face was pale. “I—I told Nott that I have no idea what—”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in excuses, Borgin. I want to know the details of who had them and how.”

He swallowed and shook his head. “There’s very little to tell, I’m afraid.”

“Must I draw it out myself or should I call upon my husband to pay you a visit?”

“No, no, no, that’s not necessary, ma’am, my apologies,” he said quickly. She didn’t like invoking Draco, he would have been irked if he knew she was here, but it seemed to do the trick. As much as she hated being associated with Draco’s crimes, she supposed it was only fitting and why not let it be useful when it suited her?

“Then do tell.”

“It’s…as I told Nott. It was late in the night. I heard shouting and clamoring down here in the store. I caught them, a man and a woman, I think the woman’s bag must have spilled out on the floor and I saw the fangs. When I made myself known, the intruders collected the fangs and ran. They were gone when by the time I got to the door to chase them. That is all.”

“And why’d you let them leave with the fangs? In your dealings, I would think you’d immediately recognize them.”

“I was, unfortunately, more concerned with the intruders. It was a stressful night, Mrs. Malfoy. It was the Battle of Hogwarts and I feared…” Valeria looked up, wide eyed at Borgin. Nott hadn’t mentioned that critical detail, to her memory. Borgin went pale again at the look of her and stammered. “I swear it’s the truth, ma’am. They were right over there when I caught them—”

She whipped around to wear he pointed as he cut himself off. Right near where he pointed was a large cabinet and realization crept up in her as her blood boiled. How could have Borgin left out these details when he first spoke to Nott? But she was careful not to reveal too much. The cabinet, the Battle of Hogwarts…Someone had escaped with basilisk fangs in hand…

“Thank you, Borgin,” she said. “I’ll be on my way.”

He shouted niceties after her as she left the shop, but the relief in his voice at her departure was also clear. It was fortunate Borgin had not put together the Battle of Hogwarts with the cabinet. She remembered that Draco and his accomplices had paid Borgin a fair amount of coin to keep quiet and disclosed nothing to him. In fact, there were very few who knew about the cabinet and even fewer knew where it led.

Valeria was nearly certain that the Battle of Hogwarts and the intruders were connected. Everyone who was not in hiding in the wizarding world had come to the battle. It would have been a fool’s errand to brazenly try to rob a shop in the middle of the night on that night in particular. But everyone who knew about the cabinet at Hogwarts, and its repair, was either dead or otherwise accounted for. Snape and Draco wouldn’t have had the time to smuggle themselves out of the castle and back again, that didn’t make sense. Dumbledore was dead, as was Potter. Her own memories of that night were fuzzy, but she believed fully that she had nothing to do it. She had been found by Snape that night, after all. A man and a woman had been there, according to Borgin’s account, but her mind was blank as to who could possibly have gotten out of the castle with basilisk fangs.

Valeria would have to go through the records of who lived and died at the Battle of Hogwarts later. Mind reeling with the burning questions, she dreaded her next errand even more that she had before. It was one of the few remaining places in the wizarding world that made her grateful for her place in the world.

Azkaban had always been hellish, but even more so now, and she felt the cold of the dementors’ presence as she was escorted into the prison. She never asked about what happened there now. She did not want to know. It was a mark to just how vile some people were that the guards standing before the high security floor of the prison were laughing with one another.

“A visitor for Lovegood,” Valeria’s escort said. One of the guards scoffed. Valeria had kept her hood up once more, but she could feel their eyes on her. They were glorified Snatchers; low level members of the Dark Lord’s forces who themselves vied for the coveted Dark Mark that only the highest ranking men and women bore. The very type of person to let a little bit of power make them feel as though they were masters of the universe.

“And who might that be? We can’t just let anyone in to see the blood traitor collection.”

Valeria, repulsed by these people, lowered her hood. “Valeria Malfoy, sir. I have business with Lovegood.” Much like Borgin earlier, the two guards froze for a moment when they saw her. She felt them staring at the scar on her face, her greatest humiliation. Though neither was stupid enough to anything about it.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy, our apologies,” the other guard said before letting her and the escort pass through. Once again it was Draco’s reputation they feared, or rather, respected enough to not ask further questions.

“She does not have her wand of course, so she should be of no trouble for you. Upon release, a sophisticated Trace will be placed on her informing us when and where she does any form of magic. If she is found in violation of terms of release she will suffer the consequences,” the escort said as they passed by the eerily silent cells lining the walls. “Would you like me to join you or proceed alone?”

“I think I can handle one unarmed blood traitor,” Valeria said.

“As you wish,” the escort said as he cast a complex spell on the door before them. He gestured for her to open it and stepped away. “You have fifteen minutes.”

Valeria thanked him and opened the door with some reservation that she tried to hide. She entered the cold, stone cell alone and shut the door behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but she still illuminated the tip of her wand for a little extra light.

In a corner, seated atop some old blankets or cloth, was Luna Lovegood. Valeria was so taken aback by the state of her former classmate that she thought she had the wrong cell at first. The woman’s hair had been sheered short. She was thin and ragged looking. Her eyes looked to be ever at the brink of tears she could not bring herself to shed. Valeria swallowed her sympathy and stifled all compassion as Luna looked up at her like she was seeing an unexpected ghost.

“Valeria…” Luna muttered, her voice tired and raspy. “Why…? I don’t…”

“I’m here to help you,” Valeria said before Luna could ask the question. “Though I doubt you’ll see it that way.”

“…What?”

Valeria pulled from her robes a small stack of paperwork bound in a leather cover. “I’m told you will be released soon, congratulations. As you are a witch of pure pedigree it has been decided that you shall marry. It is my duty to assist in the coordination of these unions. I don’t have to do this, let’s make that clear, but I’m here to offer you some choice in the matter.”

Luna’s gaze narrowed on Valeria. “You can’t…You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Valeria said as she held out the paperwork. “I’ve pulled a few options, but I recommend Terry Boot. He’s set to be released around the same time as you and…you know him. He’ll be…he’ll be decent.”

Valeria hated remembering Terry Boot’s existence. Her laughably childish schoolyard romance, to stretch that word’s meaning, was not something she cared to remember. That was a different life. A dead one. Luna reached out and swatted angrily at the papers in Valeria’s hand, but the latter managed to snatch her hand away in time. Luna was slow and clumsy in her condition.

“I would not try that again if I were you,” Valeria warned darkly. “Lovegood, please. I’m trying to help you. If you don’t accept it, I cannot guarantee you won’t be placed with someone far crueler than Boot.”

Luna eyed her with that freakishly knowing gaze that always made a pit form in Valeria’s gut. “You’ve made that mistake before.”

Valeria remembered Pansy hanging from that chandelier. “I have.”

Luna’s expression contorted in disgust. “I should have known. I am not your absolution, Winters.”

“I’m not asking for it. Nor do I want it.”

“Then why?”

“No other women need to die trying to live up to the example I set, Lovegood. Just take the damn files and if Boot is a suitable option, inform a guard and they’ll get word to me.”

Luna gently took the papers from Valeria and held onto them. She stared down for a moment before looking up again, tears in her eyes. This time they were real ones that were about to fall. “Valeria…my father…you were there—”

“Turn to Boot’s file.”

“Valeria, please—”

“Turn to Boot’s file,” Valeria commanded quietly through clenched teeth. Lovegood finally obeyed with shaking fingers and when she got to it, she stopped before letting out a sob. She brought her knees to her chest as she set down the papers, cradling a dainty chain her clenched fists. Valeria had snuck the odd little pendant of Xenophilius Lovegood in the paperwork.

“How did you get this?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Valeria said, knowing it would be a little more difficult to worm her way out of smuggling in contraband to Azkaban were Lovegood to blab. Luna nodded, understanding Valeria’s meaning.

“Can you at least tell me what happened to him?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Valeria stiffened and wore the most blank expression she could muster.

“I killed him,” Valeria said matter-of-factly. Luna sobbed hard once more.

“Why?!”

“Mercy.”

“For him?”

“He wasn’t special to me, Lovegood. He wasn’t the first, probably not the last,” Valeria said before a long pause. She could not stand Luna’s sobs anymore. “Do send word about the marriage. I look forward to your happy union.”

Valeria turned as Luna called after her, knocking on the door to be let out. The escort shut the door on Luna’s sobs as Valeria quickly made her way out of Azkaban. That was enough of errands for one day.

But the day did not improve once she arrived back home at Malfoy Manor. Her mother and Narcissa were already bothering her with questions about the big Christmas party Valeria was charged to play hostess for. She had handed over most of the tasks to the two older women to give them something to do and to have more time to work on the Dark Lord’s tasks. After absentmindedly choosing this color and that décor, she escaped. Once safe in the north wing of the Manor, she hunted Draco wondering to herself whether she was to meet the lover or the monster. It was never certain.

He was sat at the piano, briefly bathed in golden sunlight streaming in through the window, so rare in the dead gloom of winter. But an unseen cloud passed overhead as she stepped forward and Draco was once more awash in daytime shadow as he turned to her. His gaze was soft, expectant, perhaps relieved to see her. It was rare to see him at ease, even if it manifested from some defeated resignation. She approached him and stood beside the piano.

“Play something for me,” she asked. He withdrew his wand and she held her hand up to stop him. “Without magic.”

“Magic is might, Winters,” Draco said with sarcastic little scoff. It was their little secret that he still called her by her maiden name, though he never fully explained why. To him, it was a fragment of who she once was that he could still hang on to. Speaking it aloud was a way to remind her, and himself, that maybe somewhere they were still who they were.

“I didn’t know a law against piano playing was passed,” she said.

“I’ve hardly played in years.”

“You used to all the time.”

He rolled his eyes a little. “We were kids. And you always complained about my playing anyway.”

“You were too aggressive with the keys.” She paused, running her fingers on the smooth, black wood. “Your mother still plays. I hear her at night sometimes.”

“Keeps her sane,” Draco said.

“Can you try?”

He looked at her, his hard refusal cracked by the gentleness of her request. It was hard for him to deny her anything, even after he had denied her so much, least of all the possibility of a decent life. He gently placed his hands on the keys and slowly played out a soft little melody, simple but no less poignant in the moment.

“How were your errands?” he asked, as if trying to distract himself from his thoughts as he played.

“Nice change of pace from locking myself up in the laboratory all day,” she started. “I saw Luna Lovegood.” He looked up at her with a stern gaze, but kept playing. “I told her I’d have her marry Terry Boot, if she wanted. He’ll be released around the same time as her.”

“Why?”

“Boot’s nice enough. They know each other from school. Figure it’s the best option she’s got,” Valeria said.

“Boot’s been in and out of Azkaban for years. You went a few dates with him fifth year. You can’t claim to know the man anymore,” Draco said with a sigh.

“I’m sure he’s still decent,” Valeria said. Draco looked into her again.

“You think so?”

“I want to.”

“You should stop doing favors for them. They don’t want them, and you risk going too far,” Draco said, still playing.

“It’s not about favors. It’s mercy.”

“And you think we’ll be shown mercy?”

“I haven’t taken it far enough to have to ask that. I might as well do what I can with what power I have,” she said. Draco wasn’t satisfied, but he looked back to the keys and let it go.

“And your other errands?”

“Just the one. I had a conversation with Borgin,” she said with hesitation. Draco stopped playing at once and rose from the bench, which creaked as the legs dragged on the stone floor. With long strides, he marched over to Valeria, looming over her.

“Snape explicitly told you—”

“Is Snape my keeper now? You’re taking _his_ side?”

“I’m not. I told you that I set the record straight with him.” Draco sighed. “But in this one case, I think he was right. You should have let Nott handle it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own while still adhering to the Dark Lord’s values and I sure as hell am not going to listen to Snape—” she said.

“I agree, but he was trying to keep you out of danger, as am I. That means keeping you as much out of the thick of things as possible—”

“But why? The Dark Lord called upon me personally, so if he sees my worth, so should the rest of you. Snape has no idea what he’s talking—”

“He left you in tears when I intervened,” Draco said, crossing his arms.

“You think I’m weak?” she asked, deeply wounded.

“No. If anything you’re too stubborn and strong, as always. That’s why you need to be careful and listen to us. You don’t have to listen to Snape and I want to know immediately if he ever corners you like that again, but you should listen to me and I say that he’s right.”

“Is that what you want? Just take every order and heed to ever work you say like I’m your goddamn house elf?”

“You know that if I did, I would have forced you to already. I want you to behave like my wife.” He took a sharp inhale. “And I don’t want you fighting anymore battles.”

She collected herself and calmed her anger. “I didn’t have to fight Borgin. He was scared enough just seeing me, but I’m glad I didn’t listen to Snape because I found out something that Nott didn’t.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, patience wearing. “And?”

“Someone, two people, escaped the Battle of Hogwarts with the basilisk fangs.”

Draco took a step back. “What? How? How do you know—”

“Borgin forgot to tell Nott that the night that he saw the intruders in his shop was the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. There was a man and a woman, and the woman’s bag or something had spilled out on the floor, that’s when he saw the fangs. They scrambled and got out of the shop, but they were long gone by the time he got out onto the street. They were by the cabinet, Draco. He pointed right next to it. The one that links to Hogwarts.”

Draco stared at her as the realization dawned on him and his expression became grave. “Only us, Snape, other Death Eaters and Potter knew about that cabinet. We know what happened to everyone who knew about it—”

“That’s the problem. Who were they and why the hell did they have basilisk fangs?”

Draco paced about the room, running his hand through his hair. “This is bad. If they knew about the connected cabinets, they could possibly get back into the school.”

“It’s been years and they haven’t come back, it seems. No one trying to break into Hogwarts would last long anyway,” she said.

“It couldn’t have been anyone on our side. It might have been an accident. Someone trying to hide and thought that was a good spot, not knowing it’d transport them.”

“It’s possible,” she nodded. “But the Room of Hidden Things is a maze. The likelihood they’d just come upon it and wait around long enough to consider hiding in it without knowing what it is seems off to me. Considering they had the fangs on their person, it looks like they were trying to get out and knew how.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right. Potter knew about it…so that means…” He stopped. “His friends. He might have told one of his friends. Fuck!”

“I doubt any of Potter’s friends would have high tailed and ran. They were loyal to him to the end,” Valeria said.

“Yes, some of them still are. It’s the only guess I have,” he said, darting to a small writing desk and quickly scribbling on parchment. “I’m telling Nott to search the records from that night at the Ministry to find out what became of all the survivors and who’s not accounted for. That’s a place to start. Who do you think Potter would have told that’s still alive?”

Valeria didn’t have to think long. “Ginny Weasley, maybe. My memory’s hazy, but I don’t think he had much contact with her before the battle. But, he might have told her beforehand or suggested it as a way out for her. She might have told others…”

“Granger and Ron Weasley were around in the Room of Requirement when I caught Potter,” Draco said, low. He was having a hard time getting the words out. “But they’re dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw their bodies, Valeria,” Draco said before taking a shaky breath. “They didn’t have any fangs on them.” He shook himself from the memory. “I’ll have to call on Blaise too. We’re going to have to interrogate Weasley.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said, coming to stand beside Draco, who turned on her.

“Absolutely not!” Draco said as if the suggestion were vulgar.

“I’m capable. I’m excellent at curses and—”

“I don’t want you there if it goes…poorly.”

She stepped toward him and put her hands gently on his upper arms. “We’ve been practicing. The four of us can handle Weasley and her mum. Look at me.”

Draco obeyed; a fair bit taller than her he had to look down to meet her gaze. There was a solemn grief in his eyes. For once, his steel gray eyes were soft. There was still some of the Draco she knew and loved left within him.

“If anything happens to you…It would all be for nothing,” he said with dread, as if he were speaking a curse or dirty word.

“You don’t have to carry the weight of this world alone. That’s the whole point of being married, isn’t it?” she said. He took her in his arms slowly, gently, resting his head atop hers and she felt his warmth, his resolve, his strength. She had hardly felt stronger herself than when she was in his arms like this.

“The marriage was bullshit,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t seem like bullshit. Not after four years. That was deal, wasn’t it? You promised to keep me alive, we vowed to do it this way if the Dark Lord won. Let me help,” she pleaded quietly.

Draco only nodded. He didn’t know what to say and knew well enough that there was little point in stopping her. Better for her to be there under his watch than for her to feel as though she had to act alone. It was easy for him to get caught in the mire of his atrocities without remembering why he set on this path in the first place. All for her. All for a girl he had known his whole life. All for the only person who ever needed him.

For every curse, every abominable action, each choice that further and further damned him was in the service of love.


	9. Predator and Prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic description of violence. Description of death/corpses. Psychological trauma. Psychological torment. Foul language. Male violence against women (not sexual.)

**May 1998**

Valeria waited alone in the deafening silence in her chambers of Malfoy Manor as the hours ticked away. Exhaustion and confusion gripped her, but each time she was about to find a semblance of rest, a new intrusive terrorizing thought jolted her to full alert. Potter was dead. It was over. She recalled the agreement she and Draco made; That if the Dark Lord proved victorious their marriage would remain intact. Forever. She grieved for it, for it all, dismayed to discover that she had unknowingly had more hope than she thought she had, now dashed.

She waited for Draco in the long hours as dawn approached, which she hardly noticed as she had drawn the curtains closed. When she heard a pop, she jolted up again and turned to find Draco standing behind her a few paces away. He was even worse for wear, his hair was a mess and he was covered in dust and grime with noticeable blotches of blood spatter all over his body. Her stomach dropped at the expression on his face; paler than the moon, his eyes looked glassy. She feared for a moment that he was an upright corpse.

His body swayed and she rushed him as his legs gave out from under him. She stayed his fall as best he could, but they both ended up on the floor as his torso collapsed onto her and she grabbed him as tight as she could. He trembled, heaving for a moment before a horrible sob escaped him and ruptured the silence in the room. She made no sound, not knowing how long the time passed as he sobbed, hyperventilating as he choked on his own cries. The crook of her neck became wet with hot tears and fluids form his mouth and nose, but she hardly noticed.

There was no comfort, no relief in this reunion. Only dread.

When he could muster enough strength, she helped him into the adjacent bathroom. Magic was used to quickly run warm water and she helped him undress as he trembled too fiercely. Valeria vanished his soiled clothes away, knowing well that Draco would never want to see them again anyway.

Gently, she helped him wash away the dirt, grime and blood from the battle. She saw the scars on his torso from Potter’s curse in the bathroom sixth year. She had to wonder how many scars there were that she could not see. How many gaping wounds throbbed within him, bleeding and open to infection? It brought her nearly to tears, but she had to stifle those feelings for his sake.

He was calmer once he was clean and he began to tell her what had happened, his voice often breaking. She told him what he had done with Potter, how she secured a pardon for her and forced Bellatrix to make an Unbreakable Vow to him. That news brought her a bitter comfort. He explained who lived and died and how. He told her how he had committed his first true murder and her heart shattered into dust for him. When his telling of the horror was finished, he grabbed her hard on the wrist, his fingers touching the serpentine ward that she dutifully wore.

“I’ll never say any of this again. You will never ask me about it again,” he said. He frightened her. His eyes were wild with shock and fury. But she nodded as the reality of her life took hold within her. If Voldemort won, they would remain married and continue on in the world created in his own image. This was it. This was the bitter end. Grief and anger for herself selfishly nearly overcame her. But she managed to swallow and speak softly.

“On one condition,” she said.

“What?”

Tears were hot in her eyes. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done, forever, on one condition. Someday, when it’s right, I’m going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.”

**December 2002**

Draco returned much more at ease than when he had departed. He came into her potions laboratory with papers in hand and sighed when he shut the door, as if dropping a heavy burden to his relief.

“What happened?”

“Good news,” he began. “I tested the cabinet at Borgin and Burke’s and it doesn’t work. Nothing gets transported when I try it. That means the cabinet at Hogwarts is non-functional.”

“How do you know? Vanishing cabinets are finicky at the best of times—”

He smirked and let out a little huff of a laugh. “I spent an entire schoolyear learning the ins and outs of vanishing cabinets. I think I’m a bit of an expert on the subject.”

“Fair enough. At least we know no one can get in or out of Hogwarts that way.”

“I’m still going to have the one in Knockturn Alley moved,” Draco said. “Without being absolutely certain what the status of the sister cabinet is, I don’t want it sitting around in public. I think the Winters Castle cellar would be ideal.”

“That’s doable. Tilly can help get around the protective enchantments,” Valeria said. “How’d it go with Nott?”

Draco stepped forward and set the paperwork down on the one table that didn’t have cauldrons sitting atop it. He handed Valeria the first parchment on the stack. “He put a list together of everyone who’s gone unaccounted for since the Battle of Hogwarts. The rest of these are their individual records; reported whereabouts, suspected status, etcetera.”

Valeria read the list of names,

_Abbott, Hannah_

_Bell, Katie_

_Corner, Michael_

_Creevey, Colin_

_Finnigan, Seamus_

_Hedgeflower, Gwendoline_

_Johnson, Angelina_

_Jordan, Lee_

_Longbottom, Neville_

_Lupin, Nymphadora_

_McGonagall, Minerva_

_Weasley, Fleur_

“No one from our side,” she said.

“They’re all accounted for, as I suspected they would be,” Draco said with a shrug.

“Does Snape know about the cabinet?” she asked.

“I told him what you discovered since he already knew about it to begin with. He’s agreed it’s best that the other one be moved. I still think we should start with Weasley. I’ve sent Blaise out already to start collecting anything he can on these people. I’ll have to ask my aunt about Nymphadora Lupin since hunting her down has been her personal project for a while now,” Draco said.

Valeria cringed at the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange. Valeria anxiously awaited the opportunity to finally kill Lestrange herself, but for now stifled her impatient ambitions and nodded. “I have to admit, Draco, this isn’t promising. Hardly any of these people would have been close enough to Potter for him to tell them about the cabinet and its location before he died. And it has to be one male and one female who also somehow had a stash of basilisk fangs. None of these really fit the bill.”

“It’s the only lead we got for now. Hence why we still have to interrogate Weasley. Personally, my money’s on Longbottom and either Abbott or Nymphadora.”

“So what now?”

“We get the cabinet moved. I’ll have you in Wales with Tilly and I’ll send it from Knockturn Alley. Hopefully, that’ll work. After that…” he paused and shifted his weight. “We interrogate Weasley. I’ll need some more Veritaserum, if you have the time.”

Valeria sighed. Veritaserum was one of the most common potions the Death Eaters had asked her to make and with so much practice, she had perfected the recipe. However, it was still a damned tricky, time consuming potion to make.

“Can’t you just use Legilimency?” she asked. Surely Weasley’s mind wouldn’t be that difficult to tap as she wasn’t trained in Occlumency, to Valeria’s knowledge. Draco ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“Veritaserum is a lot more…humane. Trust me,” he said quietly, as if musing aloud, lost in memory. She didn’t question or argue further.

The vanishing cabinet was efficiently moved to the Winters estate in Wales soon after. Deep under the small castle was a storage cellar, carved out centuries ago. Valeria waited alone in that room, surrounded by generations of her bloodline’s dark secrets, including her own. The Winters didn’t have any skeletons in their closets; they kept them here in this cellar.

When Draco arrived with the cabinet, assisted by Tilly in order to magically transport the cabinet directly into the highly secure location, he went to a corner of the room to an old trunk and used his knife to make a small cut on his palm, then pressed his hand to the lock. Draco had explored blood magic over the years a great deal and found it quite useful. He steeled himself as the trunk opened and pulled from it a cloak, which Valeria recognized immediately as he held it out to her.

“Potter’s cloak?” she asked.

He nodded. “I want you to wear it until I tell you otherwise when we go to the Weasley’s.”

“You can’t possibly expect it to go that bad—”

“I’m in charge of these missions and therefore I make the rules. Just do it, for my sake, please?” he said, sounding exacerbated. She knew she wouldn’t win this argument. He had developed a paranoid protectiveness over the years so even if wearing the cloak was wholly unnecessary, and borderline insulting, she knew he was demanding this to soothe his own obsessive fears.

He slammed the trunk closed when she agreed. Draco had been given or confiscated himself a few of Harry Potter’s items from the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco wanted to hold onto them, keep them accessible, but would suffer no reminders of Harry Potter in Malfoy Manor. The cellar of the Winters’s estate was the ideal compromise. He looked at his wife and remembered Potter’s last words, the ones that Draco never told anyone, not even Valeria; _Draco, you’re making a mistake._

Ginny was at a loss for what to do as she sat on the sofa in the Burrow a few days later. There had been no new leads and they were having to ration food. Molly, fortunately, had not asked or noticed where all the extra food was going, and Ginny knew better than to tell her mother about the extra mouths to feed under a trap door.

She spun the red, metal ring on her on right index finger. All blood traitors were required to wear them and no matter how hard one pulled, or what spell they tried, it could not be removed. Several blood traitors had tried chopping off their own fingers, but the rings would release a curse that destroyed the hand’s tissues and require amputation. Either way, they would always be marked unless they performed some service that pleased the new Ministry enough to properly remove it.

The rings prevented her from getting a proper job to support her and her mother. No one would hire a blood traitor for even the most meager jobs. No one could risk the association. Even people who Ginny knew to be good would not help her nor give her an opportunity. She tried not to begrudge them for it, but the pangs of hunger only reminded her of her resentments. She and Molly relied on their gardens and hunting small game with the aid of magic in order to get food. But the winter had grown hard and hiding her friends had taken a personal and practical toll on Ginny.

Ginny never much liked jewelry save for special occasions in her old life long ago. She remembered with heartache how she used to childishly fantasize about wearing a wedding ring from Harry. But it was all she could do now to do what he would do. She was trying to keep him alive, preserve him, by making the decisions he would make. He would share his food, even if it meant he’d starve. He would keep his loved ones safe at great personal peril. So would she.

Ginny was torn from her lamentations at the sound of an owl hitting its beak against the window. She shivered as she opened it and took the letter from it, not being able to spare a morsel in return, though it flew off before she would have had a chance. The front of it simply read, _Burn After Reading_. She tore it open,

_Run._

_-J.D._

Panic strangled her now racing heart as she crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire. She called out for her mum and she was about to call down to the others under the trap door.

But it was too late by a few short seconds.

Draco, Blaise and Theodore descended upon the Burrow in the form of shadowy clouds, bypassing the weak enchantments with ease on the strength of their prowess with dark magic. They surrounded Ginny in the living room.

Meanwhile, Valeria stood under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak outside the Burrow, waiting for the signal for her to enter. In her anxious anticipation, she could not help but be miffed with Draco’s insistence that she wait outside, after she had given him the Tranquila Sensus,” potion he had asked for. Admittedly though, she found some sort of strange comfort being under the cloak. It was the first time in a long time she could guarantee she wasn’t being watched. Reveling in being unseen for once, she took the time to breathe, a nice long, deep breath feeling her lungs warm the cold air she inhaled.

Valeria looked out at the Burrow and remembered the miserable times she had spent there as a teenager. Lost and with no control of her life, she had been forced to stay there under the careful watch of the Order of the Phoenix, now long gone. It was clear her presence was unwanted, and even back then she could not blame the Weasleys for their displeasure. She too had been so uncomfortable, so out of her element and so deep in her own mourning that the displeasure was certainly mutual. But she remembered with shame, they did try.

There was a bright green glow visible through the windows of the lowest level that lingered for a moment and Valeria knew that to be her cue. She strode forward toward the borderline makeshift house and entered, still under the cloak. She was immediately met with Molly’s hysterical screams.

“Will you shut her up, Blaise?” Draco asked with a bored drawl, his and the others’ masks now removed. Blaise promptly cast a silencing charm on Molly Weasley, still red-faced and in tears. The woman had lost weight, her hair had grayed and resembled a wiry mess as she sat, magically bound to a chair beside her daughter. Valeria shut the door to keep out winter’s wrath and revealed herself as she removed the cloak.

Ginny, also magically bound to a chair, looked up. Her previous expression colored with petrified fear morphed at once into an angry one that reminded Valeria of an aggressive dog. Ireful tears filled Ginny’s eyes, but it was Blaise who first broke the silence.

“Lovely of you to join us, Valeria. See, Malfoy, I told you there was no reason to make her wait. Making your poor wife stand out in the cold…tsktsk,” Blaise mused, his sarcastic tone clearly implying he was joking.

“Once again, Blaise, your jokes are both unfunny and unasked for,” Valeria said, though she did agree with him, as she shoved the cloak into a bag she had on her person. Draco held out his hand, but Ginny interrupted.

“That was Harry’s…” Ginny said, her voice cracking a little as she spoke quietly. Valeria looked back to Ginny sharply, the casual banter was so bizarrely at odds with the situation Ginny was in. “You…you took it from…”

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, traitor,” Nott said flatly. Ginny didn’t appear to hear the warning, her hateful gaze fixed on Valeria.

“It belongs to…it’s been in his family for generations…” Ginny said, still sounding like she was musing aloud.

“Seems that ship has sailed, Weasley. Unless you have some news you’d like to share with us,” Draco paused while Ginny kept her focus on Valeria. “Well, sounds like there are none of Potter’s bastards running around.” Blaise and Nott laughed a little and that’s when Ginny turned on Draco.

“Was his body even cold when you took if off him like some kind of fucking trophy—?” she began, but Draco cut her off by roughly taking Ginny’s jaw in his gloved hand. Molly struggled against her magical bonds, trying to scream.

“I couldn’t have delivered him to the Dark Lord without it. Would you like to hear the whole story?” Draco asked, bringing his face close to Ginny’s. Valeria felt an empty pit form in her gut at his tone. There was much darker and sinister in his voice than even she knew. “How I used the Imperius Curse to march him all the way out of the castle while your lot fought. Right under all of your noses. A bit inspired on my part, I think. Harry potter delivered to his doom with his own family heirloom—”

Unable to squirm out of his grip, all Ginny could do was spit right into Draco’s face. He recoiled away in disgust and gestured to Molly. At his prompt, Nott cast a curse on Molly and while she was still awake and alive, it was quite clear the curse caused her pain. Ginny shouted in defensive retaliation, but Draco turned on her again.

“Want more, Weasley? How would like to hear how the Boy Who Lived landed on the ground with a pathetic thud? Oh, you should have seen how the Dark Lord toyed with his corpse, flinging it against the trees, against the dirt. The Chosen One, the great Harry Potter, limbs dangling like a dead animal, and I got to see firsthand what he really was in the end. He was nothing,” Draco said through his teeth.

Ginny trembled with rage, tears flowing freely and her face red with fury. “Drop. Fucking. Dead.”

Draco laughed a little. “I must say I didn’t expect the foul language from you. Your family always liked to pretend they were so much better than everyone else. Where’d that get them Weasley? I don’t think I need to describe it to remind you of how they died; pathetically and exactly how they deserved while they begged for mercy. Even after seeing all that, it seems you didn’t learn. Still in love with a dead boy. It’s romantic, really, in a pitiful sort of way.”

Ginny turned to Valeria. “I rather love a dead man than be any man’s filthy whore—”

So swiftly that Valeria could not process it in the moment, Draco struck Ginny across the face as hard as he could with the back of his hand. The strike was so forceful that Ginny surely would have been knocked to the floor if she weren’t magically bound to her seat. Molly continued to struggle as Ginny straightened herself, a red mark on her face and a small cut on her lip.

Valeria knew Draco’s temper well. She knew him to be the school bully. She had seen him duel fiercely. She had seen be cruel when he felt nothing else would work. She had seen him kill. Many times, had she seen him kill, and he wept each night in their chambers after he did so. Never had she seen him purposefully torment someone on his own accord. Never had she seen him smirk and smile as he did so. Was he always like this? Had he been destined to become this? Did the potions she gave him to smother his emotions and flush out his compassion do more than just dull his hesitations? Did the potion make him enjoy this?

Had she fooled herself into thinking he was someone else all along?

Ginny laughed. “Why do you look so shocked, Winters? Finally seeing who exactly you’re stuck married to? Thinking about what’s it going to be like when he runs his hands all over you later—?”

Draco shoved his wand far back into Ginny’s mouth and she gagged as she struggled against him. “Dare to speak to her again and I will cut out your tongue, filthy traitor.”

“We don’t have all day, Draco…” Nott said, sounding quite bored with this show. Draco, seething in fury still, reluctantly removed his wand from Ginny’s throat and she coughed as she caught her breath. He held out his hand towards Valeria.

“The Veritaserum, Valeria,” he ordered. She pulled it from her bag and handed the vial to him. Ginny’s bold ferocity suddenly left her.

“I’ll tell you anything you want. You don’t need to use—”

“Trust me, Weasley, I’m being kind. This is the easy way. I don’t think you want to know what the hard way will be,” Draco said. “Valeria, search the place while we interrogate her.”

Valeria didn’t say a word as she followed Draco’s command. Whilst the interrogation went underway, she turned the house upside down searching for basilisk fangs, just in case Ginny had stashed them here. It was a long shot, but it was better to cover all bases. Without trying or wanting to, she recalled once more the time she spent here at the Burrow and how much she loathed it. The Weasleys were loud, rambunctious, always bustling and active. It drove her crazy when she stayed there, so different from the quiet and composure of her home in Wales.

Now it felt haunted by silence and grief. There were no voices to overhear through the thin walls. No pranks going on downstairs. No Quidditch games out in the yard. No games at play. No Molly scolding one child or another. No meal being prepared to feed the large family. It was all silence. It was all cold and dread. Even the ghoul that the Weasleys had apparently treated like a pet had vacated the place. The rooms of the Weasley’s dead appeared just how they had been left. Ron’s room still had his Quidditch posters, his clothes, his odds and ends.

Valeria picked up a photograph or Ron, Harry and Hermione in a wood makeshift frame. She could not recall what year it was from, but they looked happy. Harry Potter didn’t look like the villain he had been made out to be in the Dark Lord’s new world. He looked like an unassuming normal boy who could not be trusted to style his own hair. She left it behind, letting it remain like a museum artifact of an age long gone.

She spent a long time searching but found nothing. No signs of basilisk fangs. No objects. Not even a single scrap of anything that could point to dissidence or treason. She returned to the living area of the Burrow empty handed just as Draco’s interrogation was winding down.

“Find anything?” Draco asked.

“No, I don’t think she’s hiding any—” she cut herself off as she took a step forward on the carpet and stopped. She felt the floor under the rug beneath her sink a little bit more than in her previous steps. She brought her other foot forward and though it was hard to describe, the floor felt hollow under her footfall. Ginny turned sharply to Valeria as the latter stopped still. There was something down there.

All of Ginny’s rage, hate and frustration as she fought against the effects of the potion was gone in an instant. It was only abject fear on her face, as she went ghostly pale, save for the red mark Draco had given her. Valeria had spent so many years believing she was on borrowed time. For so long had she felt she was walking over a bottomless gorge on a tightrope blindfolded. One misstep, one mistake, one slightly imperfect move and it would all be gone in a flash of green light or worse.

For so many years she felt backed into a corner. Like she was being watched for errors. Like she was a desperate prey animal being relentlessly hunted.

But when she saw the hopeless, desperate fear in Ginny’s once bright eyes, the way her lip quivered as she looked at Valeria’s feet, the pleading helplessness in her expression, Valeria froze.

For it was then that Valeria realized it was she herself who had been the predator this whole time.

“Do you have or are you hiding basilisk fangs, Weasley?” Valeria asked sternly.

“No,” Ginny sputtered out, forced to tell the truth. If what Valeria sought was not under that floor, she was not going to make this worse.

“Something wrong?” Draco asked impatiently.

“No. Just making sure,” Valeria said as she stepped off that part of the floor. Though Ginny was relieved, she was not completely soothed for the woman she hated most in this world might have still had suspicions about Ginny’s most dangerous secret.

Valeria and the Death Eaters left shortly thereafter, releasing Ginny and a violently trembling Molly from their bonds. Molly was frantic and hysterical, and she knew that those hidden below the house would make their way out from their hiding place at any moment. She had no choice but to lead Molly to the sofa and magically put her to a restful sleep for now. Before Ginny could do anything else, the cellar door flew open with enough force to move the rug that covered it out of the way. Seamus, angrier than ever, emerged and marched to Ginny.

“Seamus, wait!” Neville cried out as he emerged behind Seamus.

“What the fuck was that, Ginny?!” Seamus said, seething. “You had them, you had _him,_ right in front of you and you just let him get away!”

“I was stuck to a chair, Seamus!”

“You had your wand before that. You could have done _something_!”

“J.D. sent a letter warning us and I had to get rid of it before they got here. There wasn’t time!” She paused, holding back stress induced tears. “I had to protect my mum.”

“You should have killed him and his whore too!”

“And then what? Zabini and Nott would have killed her and Molly right then and there. We can’t just mindlessly kill Death Eaters and risk losing more of us. We can’t afford that—” Neville argued, but Seamus turned on him.

“If you hadn’t held me back!”

“And let you get yourself and the rest of us killed?!”

“He killed Dean!” Seamus bellowed.

“And Dean wouldn’t have wanted you to throw your life away for revenge!” Neville shouted. “We just need to wait and—”

“How long, Neville? How long are we supposed to wait?! Potter’s been dead for years! We’ve been hiding in that hole long enough. We’re starving, penniless and we can’t dream of showing our faces outside that hole! We had Malfoy fall into our laps and _she_ let him slip away!”

“I didn’t let him do anything!” Ginny shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Enough!” Neville cried out.

“I’ve had it. We have to act. If you’re not with me, I’ll do it alone.”

Things were not much calmer that evening in Malfoy Manor when Draco returned from helping Nott and Blaise with the formal report. Valeria had been stewing in her own anxieties. She had half a mind to keep them to herself. After all, the one thing she feared most other than Draco’s death was the two of them coming apart. But when he entered the sitting room to see her, she could not hide her thoughts and Draco knew her well enough to see right through any barrier she attempted to put up.

“You told me, after the Battle of Hogwarts, that you would never talk about what happened with Potter again,” she said flatly.

“That’s different,” he said.

“How? Because you were saying it torment her? Did you have to do that? Did you have to hit her?”

Draco raised an eyebrow her for a moment. “You don’t think…Valeria, I’d never do that. Not to you.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

He rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink from the ornate liquor cabinet. “We’ve had this conversation already, years ago, and the answer is the same. I would have done it already if I ever dreamed of wanting to.”

“That’s it? Only because you ‘don’t want to’? Not because you care? Not because you love—”

“It’s precisely because I love you that I don’t want to, don’t you understand? How much more do I have to do to prove that you?”

“Not that. Not what you did to Weasley,” she said bitterly.

He sighed after taking a sip. “She needed to be broken, Valeria. That’s why I did it. Since when do you have any love for blood traitors, especially _her_?”

“I don’t. I just think she’s been broken enough.”

“Clearly not if she was that uncooperative. Why does it matter to you? Are you only going on like this because we didn’t find anything?”

“I’m not _going on_ like anything!” Valeria shouted, enraged by Draco’s condescendence. “Her father and brothers were murdered before her eyes. That’s something I can understand.”

“They were executed.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to come—”

“You didn’t want me to see you at work, didn’t you? It was never about my safety. You knew I could have handled them on my own if I wanted to. You didn’t want me to see you…like that.”

Draco’s expression twisted in anger and shame as he marched toward her. Valeria had struck a nerve.

“You need to understand one thing and one thing only. Everything I’ve done and will do is to keep us, _you_ , alive. Don’t fall under the delusion that I will not kill anyone who gets in the way of me not losing you.”

“Even if you lose yourself?”

“I lost myself a long time ago, Valeria.”


	10. A Woman's Weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fix any errors I made soon, I promise. This is way too long, I'm sorry. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Blood/Gore. Violent Death. Attempted sexual assault. Foul language. Domestic violence. Discussion of implied rape. Description of death/the dead. Discussion of suicide. Mild discussion of torture.

**December 1998**

The tree was beautiful.

In the foyer of Malfoy Manor stood an immaculate pine, not a single needle bent out of shape and not a single branch or twig drooped in the slightest. It must have been an old tree, given its tremendous size; even the vast foyer could not dwarf it. Ornaments at least the size of Valeria’s hand glistened as though they made their own light and full garlands of festive colors cascaded in elegant spirals down the tree’s branches. Valeria was trying with all her might to enjoy it, to find some comfort or enthusiasm on this Christmas morning.

But it was just as empty as any other day. She had exchanged gifts with the Malfoys and her mother. More of the same, though she was no longer naïve enough to expect otherwise. Jewelry, sets of fine robes, perfumes, glamours, expensive home décor. At least Daphne had sent her supplies for her work in potions; that was nice.

She lingered by the tree trying to feel the warmth of the holiday. Really, she was just thankful to have gotten away from family for a little while. She glanced to her right to see the massive portrait that had been her and Draco’s gift a year prior. Her own image, unscarred and perfectly poised, Draco standing stiffly behind her, looked right through her. Both her and Draco’s likenesses wore sullen expressions, looks of disappointment, as if she had somehow failed her younger self.

“There you are.”

She turned, a bit startled by his voice, to see Draco dressed for going out. Hanging in his arm was a winter cloak that she recognized to be hers.

“Needed a break,” she said honestly. “Where are you planning on going?”

“To take my wife to her Christmas present.”

She sighed. “We agreed no gifts between us this year.”

“I lied.” He unfurled her cloak and draped it around her shoulders, clasping it at the throat. He did so with a touch of tenderness. He had resolved to be as gentle with her as he could for as long as he could for there was no more room in this world for gentleness save here. He pulled up her hood. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be in here a second longer than we have to.”

She took his arm as they left the Manor and walked out onto the vast grounds. The Malfoys annexed land from Muggles centuries ago and the paths they tread behind the Manor were only a fraction of the full extent of the estate. Valeria knew these paths well, having frequently walked them from boredom or restlessness for quite some time.

“My present is…out here?” she asked.

“You doubt me, Winters? You of little faith,” he said with a soft smirk. She sighed and didn’t question further. It was a leisurely stroll and, admittedly, a welcome one. She felt the snow muffle her footsteps as it crunched a little beneath her. It was the soft, fluffy snow, fresh and new. As if fallen from on high to try and purify the world, making everything appear in grayscale. Even the Manor in the distance looked remarkably darker than in the past until they had walked far enough away for it to be out of sight.

“I recognize this,” she mused.

He nodded. “This is where we got lost when we were kids. The time your brother found us out here.” What should have been a silly childhood memory that they looked back fondly upon was tainted by the reality of their state and what had happened to Konstantin Winters. They were getting closer to that little grove where they as children feared an oncoming storm, wondering if they were ever to be found or were doomed to live out their days in the grounds of the Manor, forgotten.

But when they turned a corner, a bright pop of color in the grove caught Valeria’s eye and she stopped still. Purple, light purple. Hundreds of little flowers in full, bright, bloom adorning the branches of a lilac tree. Lilacs never bloom long, yet here they were, radiant in the dead of winter. She turned sharply to Draco.

“That’s not—”

“No, it’s not the one Konstantin enchanted for you. I did this one on my own. I thought maybe you’d like having one here too,” Draco said softly. She slowly pulled away from him and walked over to the tree. She hadn’t visited the one in Wales often, the very one her brother had chosen to be buried under. It felt vulgar to do so. She missed Konstantin too much.

She took off her glove and reached up to touch the flowers. Cool to the touch, but softer than velvet. They were so delicate in ever her gentle fingers that she feared she’d accidentally destroy or corrupt them. A cold gust of wind blew and forced her hood to slide off her head. And carried on that frigid wind came the scent of the lilac wafted all around her. The fragrance was sweet and full of life. It smelled like sanctuary.

And this was why Draco had taken the time to learn how to enchant an eternally blooming tree himself. He stood on, trying not to smile too much for fear of his joy being painfully ripped from him, as he knew all too well. He watched her in all her grace, losing herself a little in a beautifully simple, natural indulgence. Dressed in dark colors against the bleak whiteness of the world, sheltered by the vibrant shades of purple whose fragrance enraptured her senses. The girl he loved was alive somewhere in there still.

His heart ached a little to bear witness to how exquisite she was to him.

 **December 2002**

Valeria hated Christmas.

Though she never felt more in her element, more comfortable in her own skin, than when hosting this very party, she still hated Christmas. She was more than happy to let Narcissa and Odessa have their fun planning and decorating for this damned annual party, which over the years had grown in size and extravagance without any sign of plateauing in the years to come. It had become such an event that even the likes of Rita Skeeter and photographers from the _Prophet_ attended to report on it.

Valeria hated Christmas because it was now the one day of the year that Bellatrix Lestrange was allowed on the Malfoy property.

As the annual party had grown in size, luxury and prestige over the years, it was harder to pragmatically justify Bellatrix’s banishment from Malfoy Manor when all the other elite members of wizarding society, marked Death Eaters naturally included, attended. It was only under the social pressure and for the sake of avoiding the questions Bellatrix’s absence would surely raise that Valeria compromised and begrudgingly allowed it.

Though there was a silver lining. Valeria loved almost nothing more than watching Bellatrix simmer with resentment as the former smiled and made polite small talk with her, knowing there was no way Bellatrix could react without risking suddenly dropping dead. Now that would have been a hell of a Christmas gift, to Valeria’s mind. But reveling in Bellatrix’s bitterness at Valeria’s existence, and her impotence to retaliate, would have to wait.

She was mingling with several of the ladies in a parlor as they drank and played at cards whilst enchanted instruments played nearby and hired help brought around plates of light fare and were always prepared to refill a glass. The men of course were in a different room at their own fun, but at this stage of the party, the sexes usually separated for a time. Valeria was relieved to sit by Daphne and take a small break from playing hostess.

“How are the tests going?” Valeria asked Daphne quietly, referring of course to the tests on the enhanced Tranquila Sensus potion. Daphne dropped her cards down and leaned her head back in exasperation.

“For once, can we not talk about work?” Daphne asked.

“What else is there to talk about?”

Daphne leaned towards Valeria. “Millicent wearing paisley patterned robes, for one.”

Valeria made a gagging sound. “She looks like she rolled herself up in a forty-year-old carpet.”

“Smells like one too. Caught an unfortunate whiff when she cornered me by the dessert table,” Daphne said.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you seen Harper at all?”

Daphne shook her head. “Blaise told me that Warrington told him that Harper was told by Warrington not to come.”

“And why not?”

“Goyle, what else? Harper’s been erratic since…Pansy. Warrington didn’t want him to do anything stupid,” Daphne said. Against her will, Valeria was reminded of Pansy and how Harper had been willing to marry her and never forgave being stuck with Millicent. Valeria finished her drink to drown the memories, certain that Harper hated her just as much as he hated Goyle.

The door opened and Draco, Blaise and several other of the men came into the room and the noise from the party guests outside the room filled the air. Draco came up behind Valeria and put his hands on her shoulders while Blaise stood beside Daphne. Draco leaned down to Valeria’s ear and she could smell the alcohol on his breath and felt his hair brush her cheek as it fell slightly in his face.

“My mother’s informed me that it’s time for our little performance,” he said with a syrupy sarcastic tone.

“I see that you’ve broken into the scotch already. Bit earlier than usual, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s brandy you smell, darling,” he said with a little laugh. “I won’t bring out the scotch until ten-thirty, as always.” For the past two years, Draco would purchase a ridiculously expensive and supposedly impeccable bottle of scotch to share with his closest friends at precisely ten-thirty, once other guests, who Draco believed would not appreciate, nor deserved, his fine taste had gone. “For now, the show must go on.”

She sighed. “Must we?”

“ _Prophet_ wants pictures,” Draco said, his left hand running down her arm as he leaned over a little further. “All of wizarding Britain wants a glimpse of the most captivating hostess this side of the Atlantic…” as his sentence trailed off his hand had already made its way to her rear and gave it a small squeeze. Valeria promptly scooted her chair backwards, nearly causing Draco to lose his balance.

“Seems my cue has come, Daphne. I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Valeria said.

“Oh, yes, it’s that time of the night where you make your grand speech,” Blaise said. “Sure you’re not too drunk, Malfoy?”

“You’re welcome to take my place if you think you can do better,” Draco said.

“But it is just far too much fun to watch you two pretend there’s no other place you’d rather be,” Blaise teased.

“By all means, join us in our misery then,” Valeria retorted. “Let’s go, Draco.”

Linking arms, they made their way to the grand foyer passing and greeting their guests as they went.

“Did you see Millicent’s robes?” Draco asked, making sure only Valeria could hear.

“A textile tragedy,” Valeria said. Draco snorted as he tried to contain his laughter when Odessa rushed before them, stopping them in their stride.

“Good, you found each other,” she said, shoving a glass of wine into each of their hands and looking them over. “Valeria, straighten out your robes and stop slumping. This is the most important part of the evening and we can’t let you go up there looking like that.” Valeria looked down and didn’t notice a single wrinkle in her robes but smoothed them out and stood up taller regardless rather than argue with her mother. “Now, you two get up the stairs, I’ll get Rita and the photographer ready and then I’ll announce it to the guests. Go on.”

Odessa rushed off without another word and the Malfoys made their way to the stairs.

“You should slouch right as they take the picture,” Draco suggested.

“And deal with my mother’s meltdown once it runs in the paper? I rather not,” she said.

After a few minutes of Odessa getting everything in order, she held her wand to her throat to magically amplify her voice.

“Attention everyone, our humble hosts would like to say a few words. Please turn your attention to the staircase and why not have a short round of applause for Draco and Valeria Malfoy,” Odessa announced. The mingling crowd turned to them and clapped before falling to a complete silence. Valeria caught Bellatrix’s resentful gaze and gave the sweetest smile she could muster in return.

“I’d like to begin by thanking you all for coming,” Draco began. Valeria looked up at him and smiled as he spoke. She had to appear to be the adoring wife looking lovingly at the head of her household, she knew. “It is quite a wonderful to be surrounded by friends at this time of year and it is an absolute pleasure to host you all in our home. I’d to like thank our mothers, Narcissa Malfoy and Mrs. Odessa Winters for their part and I’d like to extend my gratitude to my lovely wife, who tirelessly worked to put this together for us all.”

The crowd clapped again, and Valeria feigned humility knowing full well she passed the bulk of the work over to their mothers.

“These years have seen so much change and progress and with each day we grow closer to achieving our goals. It is the greatest privilege of my life to build a new world alongside all of you fine people. Though we have endured losses, we have also reigned victorious and have been reaped the fruits of our labors. The Dark Lord’s generosity knows no bounds, surely,” Draco said.

It was getting harder for Valeria to keep smiling, and her cheeks had started to grow sore in the attempt. No mention of the horror, the death, the suffering, the toll it took on everyone though no one dared say it aloud. She glanced up at the ceiling, for the flash of a second seeing Pansy’s hanging corpse once more. Her breath hitched and she looked out on the crowd of monsters to whom she too belonged.

Draco continued to speak, but Valeria wasn’t listening. Here he was, smiling, downright jovial, absolutely charming in every way. He played his part perfectly, perhaps better than she played hers. This man was so much the opposite of the one who she saw torment Ginny Weasley. She didn’t know if she loved him as she once did or if her anger was poisoning her against him. Then again, perhaps it was the degree to which she adored him that made her hate what he became.

“…And to bore you no more with tedious speeches,” Draco said. He reached into his robe and from a pocket pulled a large velvet box and Valeria knew the little charade was nearly over. It had become tradition for Draco to publicly present to her a gift at the end of addressing their guests. Valeria didn’t know why anyone cared so much, but it helped them maintain their role as the loving couple successfully married in the traditional way. “A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman.”

He opened the box and Valeria was met with a large necklace with dozens of diamonds that glittered like moonlight. The diamonds cascaded down the length of the necklace with a large diamond in the center. Their guests ooh’d and ahh’d as Draco carefully placed it around Valeria’s neck.

She immediately felt its weight, how cold it was even through her robes. It wasn’t the first obnoxiously ornate gift Draco had publicly given her, most of the previous ones collected dust in a jewelry box, and Draco took care to give her something she’d actually appreciate in private. But this one felt different. As its weight bore down on her shoulders, she thought the necklace felt more akin to a collar. She’d have to wear it the rest of the night, parade it around like she was a display mannequin, listening to the other wives make passive aggressive comments. It was just one evening. Just one evening.

There was a toast to the holiday and the new year and then posing for the paper’s picture and then more mingling. Malfoy Manor was often a lonely place, but she almost missed the isolation when it was this filled with people.

“That’s quite the statement piece, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Valeria turned to see none other than Bellatrix Lestrange lazily walking toward her along with her tall, gaunt husband Rodolphus behind her. Bellatrix never referred to Valeria by her given name, it was always _Mrs. Malfoy_. Valeria smiled sweetly at them as they approached.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were bejeweling your husband out of house and home,” Bellatrix said.

Valeria laughed loud, a charming, airy laugh that was purposely performative. “Yes, Draco is quite generous with me in how he expresses his affections. I assure you that with the combination of the Malfoy and Winters fortunes and assets, Draco and I find ourselves to be quite comfortable. Who knows, our collective value could well exceed the Black family fortune. We could always inquire at Gringotts. That could be good fun!” Bellatrix’s eyelid twitched as she clenched one of her fists and tensed her shoulders. It was then that Valeria laughed again. “Oh, dear, I meant no offense. I was only joking, of course. It would absolutely ridiculous to go prying into matters that are both inconsequential and not my business, now wouldn’t it? Forgive me, perhaps I’ve over-indulged in the wine a little bit.”

“I understand the need for such ostentatious displays,” Bellatrix said, glancing back down at the necklace. “It must be so difficult to resist the urge to accessorize so expensively when you can’t live up to the Winters’s standard, given of course your tragic disfigurement.”

Bellatrix was of course referring to the scar she had carved into Valeria’s face just a few years ago that would not fade and could not be covered with any magical means. Bellatrix was clearly proud of her cruel marking of Valeria, the way she had stolen the immaculate mask Valeria had been trained to maintain her entire life. Valeria hated seeing it in the mirror each day, often fantasizing about what violent method she would someday use to murder Bellatrix upon seeing it. But not today. Not this night.

“You’re quite right, it can be hard at times. Though I was recently in Azkaban to do business regarding a prisoner who had only been there a few months and intermittently at that. The place had ravaged her good looks, poor thing. I cannot imagine what a decade or more in that institution would do to someone’s looks,” Valeria said. Bellatrix’s cold eyes stared daggers into Valeria who smirked politely in return, though she returned Bellatrix’s hatred with her own gaze.

“Ladies, Rodolphus,” Nott said, having approached quietly and without notice. He was rather good at that. “Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes, Valeria.”

“Of course, do please enjoy the party Bellatrix, Rodolphus,” Valeria said with a polite nod as she walked away with Nott. Her smile dropped as she turned her back on the Lestranges. “What could you possibly want?”

“Seemed like you were in need of a rescue,” Nott said.

“Actually, I was rather enjoying the conversation,” she said as they passed into a far less crowded hallway.

Nott huffed a little laugh. “Certainly looked like it, though I imagine provoking Lestrange knowing she can’t retaliate gets old after a while.”

“And you’d be entirely wrong.”

“You need a hobby.”

“And you need to tell me where we’re going,” Valeria said impatiently. They stopped short of the parlor room door and Nott opened it without explaining further. Valeria caught the motion of someone suddenly standing from a chair. Her eyes landed on Tracey. With a sharp inhale and a genuine smile, Valeria rushed to her old friend and embraced her, taking Tracey aback a moment, but she eventually returned the embrace. Valeria turned to smile at Nott and even he smiled a little shyly at the reunion.

“Valeria, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just…I tried…” Tracey began, stammering a little and Valeria shushed her.

“No, no, no, it’s fine. I’m just happy to see you,” Valeria said.

“I’ll leave you two to it. Valeria, if you wouldn’t mind fetching me when you’re done,” Nott said. She nodded in the affirmative and had Tracey sit with her at a table.

“Are you alright? Is Nott…Has he done anything to you—?”

Tracey shook her head. “No. He’s perfectly patient. He’s good to me. I should have thanked you for making that match.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Tracey was meek and nervous. “It probably saved my life. I don’t how long I would have lasted without Theodore. Daphne too. She and Blaise…”

Valeria felt her gut twist in disgust with herself. The thought of being thanked for putting her friends, anyone, in the same position as she was once forced into made her skin crawl. “Not Pansy.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Valeria didn’t respond. Tracey, who had once been friendly, curious and bright, had been out of this world too long to know what she was saying. Her fears and inner demons kept her locked in the Nott mansion far away from all of this. Valeria did not know if she envied Tracey or not.

“I know you feel sorry for me,” Tracey whispered after a moment. “Theodore doesn’t tell me everything, he doesn’t want to upset me. But what he does tell me…I want you to know you don’t have to pity me. I say this out of love as your friend, but I’d rather be me than you. I’m…I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Tracey,” Valeria said, gently placing her hand on Tracey’s.

“I can’t help it. Theodore says…the things they’re asking you to do…No one can live like that forever…”

Valeria squeezed Tracey’s hand and looked her in the eyes. “I can. And I will.”

“Maybe there’s another way—”

“There’s isn’t,” Valeria said. “Listen, all I want you to worry about is you. I have myself and I have Draco. We’ve made it this far.”

Valeria saw herself in Tracey as she was at age seventeen; Frightened, compliant, helpless and hopeless. The fear that controlled Tracey, and once controlled Valeria, no longer crippled the latter, having long since moved beyond it. Seeing Tracey now, Valeria was shocked to feel as though she realized just how cold and dead she had become. The fear, as much as it did not serve her anymore, once reminded her she was still alive. 

Tracey jumped as the door creaked open. In stepped Goyle, his eyes alight with lust for vengeance. His whole demeanor made him seem half-mad. Tracey’s breath hitched in fear and Valeria immediately stood to stand between her and Goyle.

“Goyle, have you gotten yourself lost?”

“Not anymore, I found exactly what I was looking for,” he said, stepping toward Valeria.

“What can I do for you then?”

“I read a book—” Goyle began.

“First time for everything,” Valeria said with a smirk. His expression twisted in rage, but he did not retaliate.

“Unicorn blood. Nasty stuff. You know I can’t sleep through the night now? Food doesn’t taste right. I get headaches. Even Firewhisky can’t take the edge off.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” she said. Goyle slammed his hand against a vase on a nearby table, sending it shattering to the ground. Tracey gasped a little behind her while Valeria did not flinch. He got in Valeria’s face, looming over her, but she refused to back down.

“You’ll pay for what you did. You won’t be able to sic your husband on people forever.”

“You can’t touch me. You know you can’t.”

“Not yet,” he said with a perverted grin. “I always knew you were a bitch. I tried to tell Malfoy back in school. Always hiding behind teachers, your family, Malfoy or your perfect fucking face. Look where that got you,” Goyle ranted.

“I’m not the one who appears to be suffering for my choices, Goyle.”

He paused as he seethed. “I came here to tell you something. I wanted to be the first to tell you that I’ve been assigned a new wife.”

Valeria’s confidence threatened to leave her in an instant. “Pardon?”

Goyle’s lips peeled back into a sick grin. “It’s funny how they failed to tell the match maker herself. The report on the Weasley girl, after you all interrogated her, after review, it’s been decided that Weasley needs to be kept in line and under someone’s watch. It was decided that that person should be me.”

  
Valeria was speechless. Ginny’s pure blood saved her life in the first place and kept her alive still but being a blood traitor made her far less desirable for marriage. They weren’t going to begin marrying the non-captive blood traitors off for some time and only to those of less distinguished pedigree, not to pureblood Death Eaters. It was her fault. Another woman would be subjected to Goyle’s torment because of her once more. Valeria doubted Ginny would last as long as Pansy had.

She had to act. Goyle needed to die. There was no other way around it and nothing she wanted more right then and there. She was about to go for her wand when she heard Tracey’s shaking breath, behind her. Not yet. Tracey was too fragile.

“Tinky!” She cried out. The house elf popped into the room. “Escort Mrs. Nott back to her husband.”

“Yes, Madam Malfoy,” Tinky said and followed orders. Goyle stood proudly, looking Valeria up and down as she exited behind the others, mocking her with his triumphant expression. Valeria made some excuses and retreated to the north wing of the Manor and reached her potions laboratory.

She searched through her stores. Poison would do it. All she had to do was slip it in to Goyle’s drink. She just needed to find the right one. She stopped herself as she held a particularly deadly vial in hand. Poison would be quite noticeable and easily discovered if investigated. Perhaps Daphne could perform the autopsy, fudge the results.

No. That would put Daphne at too much risk. Murdering a high-ranking Death Eater, while a guest in her home no less, was not something Valeria could feasibly get away with. There was no way to do so without being too obvious, without some reason. Some provocation.

Provocation.

The way Goyle looked at her over the years. The way he wanted vengeance against her and against Draco. The threat. The way he bragged about his cruel perversions.

She looked to the clock. She would have to time this perfectly and gamble with Draco’s predictability or else this would not well. It was ten past ten. She had twenty minutes.

Steeling her nerve, cool and calculated, she made her way back to the party and remained for the next while in Goyle’s line of sight. She was sure to make a show of having fun, smiling and laughing as she mingled with the guests, even daring to make eye contact with Goyle a few times to keep hold of his attention. If he was still the dullard she knew, he would be quite easy to maneuver.

Just after twenty past ten, she made a show of excusing herself to grab a fine from the luxurious stores of liquors in the Malfoy Manor kitchen. She walked alone through the empty halls of the Manor as the sounds of the party faded into the distance. She was getting nervous, almost frightened by the sound of her own breath once or twice, but she could not look back to see if she was being followed. She had to feign complete ignorance at all costs.

The kitchens were alive with activity, though no one was there. Tinky had used magic to keep food prepared, dishes washed and so forth. She crossed the stone floor to the little storage room on the far end. Given the value of the bottles and the need to control the temperature of the room, it was separated from the kitchen at large by a thick, wooden door. She looked at the clock; three minutes shy of the half-hour.

Her heart pounding, she waited alone looking at the bottles on racks from the floor to the ceiling. She knew Goyle was watching before, she knew that he heard where she was going, but perhaps he wasn’t as dim as she thought.

A rough hand on her shoulder spun her around and another hand struck her across the face, knocking her backwards into the racks, sending a few bottles to the ground, shattering apart on the stone floor.

“I didn’t think you were so stupid,” said the unmistakable voice of Goyle. She struggled against him, but he pinned her wrists down with one hand and her against the rack by the shoulder with the other, pressing himself against her. “Let’s see what Malfoy’s been keeping to himself all this time.”

She struggled in his grip and hoped she bet well on Draco as he began lifting the hems of her robes and groping for her undergarments. She violently flinched and writhed to slow him down but given his strength and her inability to reach her wand, she was largely unsuccessful. Goyle laughed at her, mocking her plight, taunting her as he eagerly started to undo his own garments.

His body seized as he stopped. Hot blood splattered on her face, the front of her robes and her brand new necklace. In the dim light she could see Goyle’s face go pale and a gaping hole in his throat as if an invisible blade had pierced through it from behind. He was choking on his own blood as his muscles spasmed. He looked into her eyes and she smirked back at him knowing that her smiling face covered in his blood was the last thing Gregory Goyle would ever see.

Goyle fell to the floor, taking a few more bottles to the floor with him as his limbs hit the other shelves. Behind him stood Draco, his wand still aimed where Goyle just stood. He had some blood on him too from the spatter. He lowered his wand and rushed to her, yanking her away from Goyle’s corpse. He held her firmly by the forearms and looked her over in panic.

“Did he—?”

She shook her head. That relieved him some.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” He stopped. “Why are you smiling…?” He looked her over and thought through his confusion until the realization dawned on him. “You knew I was coming down here. You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Did you lead him down here on the promise that—”

“No!” she said, disgusted at the implication.

“Then you need to explain what the fuck just happened right now,” Draco said darkly.

“He confronted me while I was talking with Tracey. He threatened me, talking big, telling me I’d pay for what you did to him. Then he told me that apparently a decision was made over our heads that Weasley was going to be given to him in marriage in order to keep an eye on her after your report. I couldn’t let that happen, Draco.”

“And why do you care what happens to Weasley?”

“I don’t. I did it for Pansy; so that he wouldn’t be rewarded for driving her to her death.”

“His life was already cursed! I made sure of it!” Draco shouted.

“And it was still more of a life than he deserved!” 

“So you decided to _trick me_ , your own bloody husband, into thinking you were being…” he stopped himself, unable to speak it aloud. “You knew that I would kill him. You lied to me.”

“I was going to poison him, but I needed a reason for him to die that the others would accept. He tried to force himself on me and you defended my honor. Our laws should take no issue with—”

“It’s not about the goddamn laws, it’s about you deceiving me into thinking my worst nightmare—” he cut himself short again, catching his breath in his anger. She could see hot tears in his eyes and for the first time she questioned what she had done. “You’re going too far.”

“We won’t be punished for this—”

“No, but what about the next time you decide to take matters into your own hands? I would have killed him, punishment or not, but what if I didn’t get here in time? Did you even think about that?”

“I did."

“And you decided to put yourself in danger anyway? Have you lost your fucking mind? What happened to staying safe, staying alive, just like you promised me? I told you that one of my two conditions was not to do anything stupid!”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re not a woman. You didn’t find Pansy hanging from that chandelier. I didn’t want to scare you, Draco, I mean that, but I stand by what I did,” she said genuinely.

“Snape was right. You need to be reeled in,” he said through a sigh.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re getting too bold. You think you have more power than you really do. I cannot allow this, Valeria. You need to know your place.”

She was fuming at the words coming out of his mouth. “My _place_? My blood is just as pure as yours and I’ve served the Dark Lord as well as you have! I am the last of the Winters’ line and I will not be told what my place is by anyone, least of all you!”

“You are my wife, and you are a Malfoy,” he said through his teeth. “If you cannot be trusted to not let your personal grudges get the better of you, then you leave me no choice. You remember what happened when Konstantin let his emotions get in the way of his loyalties—”

She struck him and they both stopped. She barely realized what she did but hearing him use her brother’s name like that sent her somewhere dark. He nodded in concession, a part of him knew he might have deserved that for that comment alone.

“Draco…I—I’m sorry…” she said, trembling a little.

“Until you can you be trusted,” he began calmly. “You will not leave this estate without my permission. You will receive no guests unless I approve of them first and I will review any letters you send. All this until further notice.”

“You can’t…you wouldn’t…”

“I am. If you try to get around any of it, I’ll be much stricter. I don’t want this any more than you, but you’ve left me no choice.”

She was desperate. “No, you don’t have to. I’m sorry. It was unfathomably idiotic and cruel to you—” she stuttered.

“That’s my final say on the matter. Go upstairs, take the back way. I’ll let everyone know that you weren’t feeling well all of the sudden. Go,” he ordered. She reached out to him, but he yanked himself away from her. “Go.”


	11. Blessings of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is SO LONG. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild consensual sexual content. Graphic descriptions of violence. Description/discussion of attempted sexual assault. Discussion of death. Some blood/gore. Magical torture. Violence against women. Putting a child unconscious with magic (no injury or physical harm.)

**August 1999**

It had been two years to the day since Draco got married. So much had changed and yet he felt exactly like that frightened boy who could hardly look at Valeria that day. Their anniversary had never been a cause for celebration, not for them anyway. However, they found a way, even unintentionally.

In the very ballroom in which they had suffered so many hours of misery at their wedding, they had already gone through two bottles of wine and were getting going on their third. They were laughing about something silly and stupid, though neither would be able to recall what it was in the morning. In a laughing fit, Valeria spilt wine all over herself, causing her to laugh even more.

“Clean it off for me,” she said, pointing to the stain on her robes.

“If I try to cast a spell right now…” he said.

“Damn, you’re right. You’ll transfigure me into a soap bar,” she said.

“You can always take it off,” he suggested.

“You are no gentleman.”

“I am! But it was a worth a shot,” he said. She stood up defiantly.

“If you are such a gentleman, prove it. Ask me to dance,” she said, holding her hand out.

“If I can’t cast a damn stain removing spell, what makes you think I can dance without breaking both our legs?”

“There’s spells to fix that too, aren’t there? Dance with me.”

“Valeria…”

“Dance with me and I might just consider taking off these robes,” she said. He let out a groan.

“You’re an evil seductress,” he said.

“And you’re enjoying it. On your feet.”

He obeyed her, unable to deny her anything really. He enchanted the piano to play alone, though it took him more than one try to get it right. Their wedding song played, and Draco was surprised how well he remembered the waltz, but that might have been his intoxication fooling him. He held her close at the waist as they spun and stepped. They laughed when they stepped wrong. He caught her when she nearly fell over and teased her sudden and uncharacteristic lack of grace.

Even though the room was spinning and even though the twirling was starting to make him nauseous, he let it all wash over him. Hearing her laugh, feeling her breath and sweat and move, seeing her fully alive made him feel more euphoria than he had felt in a long time. He was never going to let go of this. He would never let this part of her fade.

**March 2003**

Draco didn’t need more enemies, let alone having an enemy for a wife. His only consolation was that Valeria could not hate him more than he hated himself, no matter how hard she tried. Not even close.

Draco had always felt ironically small. Despite his pedigree, the prestige of his name, the magnitude of his wealth and the scope of his family’s power, he spent his entire life trying to compensate for the missing pieces and inconsistencies of his identity that he was unable to fashion himself. He never felt smaller now that Valeria would barely look at him and when she did, he wished she wouldn’t have.

_Draco…you’re making a mistake._

The words that haunted him. Potter’s last words. The words that he heard each night in his dreams and nightmares. The words that reverberated off the walls of his fractured mind each time he had to torment or kill. Now they roared like thunder whenever Valeria looked at him as she targeted her resentment at him with just her gaze, shredding apart Draco’s soul even further as a result; much like how Potter’s spell had shredded his flesh in that bathroom years ago.

Draco would never apologize for saving her life. Not for sacrificing Potter to save her and himself, no matter how much the guilt pulverized him. But he did not know if he could forgive himself for what he was doing to her now. The Winters’s way had always been calculated, poised and always in control. Control, middling as it was, was all Valeria had left and he voluntarily revoked it from her.

He had naively led her into darkness, but he did not then the horror that awaited them. He robbed her of her future when he married her, but he had no other choice. He kept an obsessive watch on her, but that was for both their sakes. He had delivered death and destruction, but all to protect her.

He could square those decisions. He could make peace with them knowing she was alive. But this? This was entirely his own doing and he felt his heart rot in his chest as he watched her whither. 

He hardly saw her anymore, except when necessary. He spent hours alone in his study looking at old photographs, the album Odessa had given them as a wedding gift. It was masochism, pure and simple. The urge to be near her easily overruled his need for a sound mind. He was trying to be near her again by lingering on these photographs that meant nothing to anyone except them.

Funny thing about photographs, such innocuous things valued for record keeping and the preservation of memory, their only value was their sentimentality. To Draco now, seeing Valeria happy, childlike, innocent and so very bright only showcased the scope of what they had lost.

He wondered if anyone remembered her as she once was. Was there anyone left alive to? Though it felt like his soul was bleeding out to recall it, he remembered the way she danced at the shore of the Black Lake while Hogwarts loomed over them in all its storied glory as Draco enchanted the wind to swirl around her. It smelled of spring then. It smelled of lilacs and life. Did anyone remember her like that? Did anyone even care to try?

He mourned at night like this while in his self-imposed isolation. Sobbing into his third or fourth drink, maybe more as he didn’t keep count, glancing out the window at the cold light of the stars when he needed reprieve. Vainly and hopelessly, he wished the stars would spell out an answer for him, but he had never paid much attention in Astronomy so he could hardly decipher their omens if they did. But they reminded him of her, even as his torso trembled through his lonely tears. He was named for the stars, but it was only her he saw. Splitting through the blackness of night, the darkness of him, casting the beauty to captivate and the lights to guide lost souls home as she did him.

She would show him no such mercy anymore. Goyle’s funeral was the first time they had spent much time near each other since the incident in the liquor cellar. He knew she was two-faced, often manipulative, but it was shocking when she turned it on him. She was every bit the adoring wife supporting her husband through the sudden and tragic loss of his friend and comrade. As soon as no one was looking her face fell and she turned ice cold again. Her talent for putting on the right face at the right time was impressive, if not terrifying at times.

Draco had been punished by being forced to give Goyle’s eulogy. Snape and the Dark Lord were the only ones that knew what truly happened to Goyle, but Draco withheld the whole truth from them both, though Snape was suspicious. The story was simple; Valeria had gone downstairs to fetch a special bottle of wine, Goyle had followed her and attempted to rape her before Draco intervened. The Dark Lord was upset, but Snape advocated on Draco’s behalf, gently reminding the Dark Lord that should Goyle’s assault been successful, he would have been executed for violating the pureblood wife of a prominent Death Eater under their own laws. Despite the damage control crisis Goyle's death caused, Draco didn't regret killing him. If anything, he regretted not making Goyle suffer longer.

The official story was that Goyle, driven by grief for his wife and unborn child, drank himself to death that night. That left Draco free to write a eulogy about their schoolyears, their lifelong friendship, their shared ideals and how they worked together to bring the Dark Lord to victory. While Crabbe was the most upset person in attendance, Draco could not help but feel some semblance of guilt. Goyle was, after all, at one point just a boy of limited intellectual talent but was a beast on the Quidditch pitch. They played games together in the common room. They schemed to sneak food from the Great Hall. Goyle was, at one point, Draco’s friend. Never could Draco have imagined when he met Goyle as a child that he would one day become his friend’s executioner. Draco kept his eyes on his wife as he spoke at the podium. He thought he saw the ghost of a smirk on her face.

That was three months ago. Valeria still barely spoke to him.

“I’m surprised Valeria hasn’t stopped in to say hello. She usually does by now,” Blaise said, slouching comfortably in his chair.

“Doubt she will,” Draco said, not looking up from the papers on the table before them. Dozens of scouts’ reports and reports on those reports, intricate topographical maps and several books lay scattered and sprawled on the table. This was an important hunt, but only Bellatrix knew the full extent of the mission for now. It was Draco’s, Blaise’s and Nott’s job to crack the security around the location.

“Trouble in paradise, Malfoy?” Blaise teased with a raised eyebrow. Draco let out a hard sigh.

“Just a bump in the road,” Draco said. He hesitated a moment. “I decided we needed to reevaluate a few things and she’s less than happy with me about it.”

“This have anything to do about what happened with Goyle?” Nott asked.

“Don’t push it,” Draco said. He had been tightlipped about what happened with Goyle, even with them. But they knew Draco too well by now and were in too deep to not notice the strange timing and other details in Goyle’s sudden demise. Fortunately, Nott and Blaise knew better than to push the subject, for the most part. “They didn’t tell me that being married would be…like this.”

“You were married at seventeen, mate. You really weren’t able to expect anything, were you?” Blaise said.

“I think, whatever your problem is, it has more to do with who you two are than it has to do with marriage at all,” Nott said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that you two were always either at each other’s throats and then went weeks without talking only to kiss and make up; Repeat,” Blaise said.

“This is a little more than a schoolyard squabble.”

“You’re still the same people,” Nott said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Could always give her a baby,” Blaise said. Draco looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, dumbfounded. “It’d give her something to do. She’ll have a reason to stay out of things and no time to try and get overly involved.”

“Excellent idea as always, Blaise, but complicated by the fact that I’ve been all but banished from our bed.” Draco had obviously not been so dimwitted as to even broach the subject of intimacy with Valeria, nor did he blame her for her disinterest, but he could not deny to himself that he missed being touched something desperate. Other than firm handshakes with his colleagues, no one touched him.

“Who says you need a bed?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“That serious, huh?”

“It’s not important.”

“A man has needs.”

“And you need to shut it and keep working,” Draco said, his frustration getting the better of him. “What are we going to do about these enchantments, Nott?”

Nott dutifully set down a map and began marking it up. “If my instincts are right, based on the scouts’ reports, it’s a very crude concealment charm. Basically, a cube of space they’re hiding inside. The downside is we can’t see in, but they can’t see out.”

Blaise scoffed. “Then what’s the point?”

“It’s crude, but it’s much easier to maintain this for long periods of time, months or years, even. It’s thanks to that that we had such a hard time finding it, at least, that’s what Lestrange says,” Nott said with an indifferent shrug.

“If it’s so crude, then we should have no problem getting through it,” Draco said.

Nott shook his head. “Trouble is finding it. It may be simple, but it’s strong, especially if it’s been maintained this long. It’ll take all four of us, with Lestrange included, to take it down at these points, here,” he said, gesturing to the points he made on the map. “I’m certain that’s where it is, but I could be off by a few feet in any two-dimensional direction.”

“Looks like it’s the closest we’re going to get,” Draco said, looking over Nott’s work.

“And when exactly are we going to be told what we’re supposed to be doing?” Blaise asked.

“We’re hunting three. One is to be kept alive at all costs, the other two are inconsequential. That’s all we need to know. Knowing my aunt, she won’t tell us until we’re about to begin,” Draco said.

“Well, gentlemen,” Blaise began sarcastically, coming to a stand. “We best send this off to Snape and the others and get our rest before the big day.”

The hunt had been approved a few days later. They were set to begin at night and Draco slept in quite late that day, alone in one of the stately guest suites in the north wing of the Manor as he had for the past few months. He counted down the evening alone with a drink, lounging on a sofa, trying to settle his pounding heart. It was always like this just before a mission that would likely result in him killing someone. He never got used to the feeling.

He was trying to distract himself, touch starved and alone, even the comfortable leather sofa felt cold and hard on his back. He shut his eyes, trying to will himself to imagine warmth and comfort and his mind immediately wandered to lustful reaches. His urges manifested in his mind bombarding him with memories of pleasures past; the way her back would arch, her soft, airy breaths when they were one flesh, how her fingers would dig into his flesh and he felt her own soft skin on his. Even recalling the beads of sweat that rolled down her skin did something for him in his pathetic state. Craving the distraction, he was about to relieve himself for at least some small release when the door swung open without warning. Draco scrambled to sit up and hide his shame, successfully to his relief. Turning to the door, he saw his father as if there could be anything more humiliating. Fortunately, Lucius didn’t notice anything amiss.

“You’re not supposed to be in this wing,” Draco said.

“I know, but surely a father is allowed to see his son off. This sounded important. Your aunt is practically giddy with excitement,” Lucius said. He was a shadow of his former self, though he still tried to have the airs of a patriarch, it was like he was playing a part in a stage play.

“I know little more than you do about it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Draco said, getting to his feet.

“Not at all. I’d never jeopardize your position. I’m merely here to show you my support, that I’m proud of you,” Lucius said.

Draco was suspicious. He wondered where this was going. “Thanks.”

“Forgive me waxing sentimental,” Lucius said with a little laugh. “Watching you now, it’s like looking back in time at myself. Like a mirror. Back in those years, your mother was the one who got me through all of it. I was doing it all for her.” Draco swallowed, hating the thought of being just like his father. “But, believe me, I know the toll it can take on a marriage. The past few assignments, you’ve left alone. I thought Valeria usually saw you off.”

“Timing didn’t line up. She has her own work to do,” Draco said flatly.

“Yes, locked up in that laboratory. You’re certain there’s not more to it?” Lucius asked.

“Yes.”

“She’s your lifeline, Draco. Hopefully, sooner than later, the eventual mother of your heir as well. You need to stay connected to her.”

“We’re fine.”

“It’s not shameful to have a rough patch. They happen and—”

“You and mother turned out just fine. So will we,” Draco said, rolling his eyes impatiently.

Lucius looked at him and nodded, smirking a little at the floor. “We’re devoted, Draco. We’re not fine. There is a vaster difference than it at first seems.”

Before Draco could rebut his father, the door opened with a long swing once again and Draco turned to see his wife standing there. Of course. Valeria turned sharply to Lucius, barely concealing a sneer.

“I thought this wing was private,” she said.

“I did not mean to overstep, Valeria, I just wanted to see my son off,” Lucius said, sounding quite aggravated.

“Have you finished?” she asked.

“Yes, we have,” Draco said before Lucius can answer. “Can we have some time alone, father?”

“But of course,” Lucius said after a moment, though the politeness was forced. Valeria and Lucius stared daggers at each other as he crossed the room and shut the door on his way out.

“Must everyone walk on eggshells around you?” Draco asked. Promptly, Valeria marched to Draco without a word, head high, shoulders back, and held out a smile vial to him.

“As you requested.”

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from her, recognizing the vial as the Tranquila Sensus he had asked for. She was standing closer to him than she had in weeks and he could smell her perfume on the air. He could not help himself as his eyes looked her up and down on their own accord. His lustfully frustrated urges returned once more. She said nothing, but she handed him an envelope with her seal on it. Draco took it and looked darkly at her. This song and dance again. He opened it as he rolled his eyes.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I, your humble wife, politely submit this letter as a formal request for me to be briefly released from my gilded cage to embark on an errand to the residence of Mr. Terrence Boot. The purpose of this visit, to be scheduled at your determination, is to discuss with him the details of his upcoming nuptials with Miss Luna Lovegood. This is Ministry approved, official business. You may inquire at the Department of Purity should you have any questions or concerns. I expect the errand to not take longer than an hour, though I will of course return at whatever time you dictate as is my most solemn duty as your glorified property. I await your approval of this request as our family’s noble patriarch._

_All my love,_

_Mrs. Draco Malfoy_

Draco was nearly fuming as he finished the letter. He glanced at her to find her smiling. Bloody smiling at him with that little smirk. He hated that part of him found it alluring. Leave it to Valeria to be maliciously compliant for her own entertainment or to otherwise prove a point. He recalled how she could be a real piece of work when she wanted to make someone miserable.

“How many goddamn times have I told you not to do this shi—” he started through his teeth.

“For your records, of course. I know how much you like to keep track of me,” she said with a grin.

“Just let me know when you go and when you expect to be back,” he said, crumpling the stupid letter and tossing it into the fire.

“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile and a polite nod. She turned on her heels and marched to the door.

“Wait,” he said. She obeyed his command, stopping and turning back to him. “Do you care about where I’m going? What I’m doing tonight?”

She stood in silence for a moment. She looked him up and down, but then met his eyes and struck him once more with her white-hot rage just by looking at him. She smiled, almost proudly.

“No.”

She turned on her heel and strutted out of the room, slamming the door with a bang behind her. Draco let out a hopeless sigh, sitting on the arm of the sofa and downing the potion Valeria had given him in one shot. He wanted the feelings, all of them, to leave him as soon as possible. The stuff was vile to swallow and made his stomach turn and his veins run cold, but it was necessary. He began to think more clearly. Could he really blame her for behaving so childishly when he left her without much freedom in all the world? He deserved this, didn’t he? Then again, wasn’t he just doing what he had to?

He felt himself to be like a dementor, sucking the soul out of her for his own consumption or to simply discard. Surely, he worse. He killed her over time. Dementors didn’t love their victims nor did they love their monster. But, she had scared him too much this time. What he had walked in on, seeing Goyle’s hands all over her, watch him reduce her in those few split moments to a plaything. How disgusted, how enraged, how utterly terrified he was that he had been unable to protect his own wife. And to learn she herself had orchestrated it unbridled his fury. He was angry at her, he knew it. That was part of this state of living he had forced upon her, but it was also because he was a coward. He was so uncontrollably scared. Not even the potion could quell these feelings completely.

He prepared alone as the time came, the ritual with Valeria now a thing of memory. Draco remembered the bedtime stories his mother read him, of brave wizards who went to war and the witches that loved them fighting at their side or using their profound power to protect those they loved. He now knew why the stories often spoke of those witches being the true heroes of the tales.

He did not have far to travel, as far as apparating was concerned. On the northwestern edge of Somerset, amongst the rolling hills and fields, which at this time of year would have been lush with bright green during the day, were patches of thick forest. Amongst these trees was the assigned meeting point. After his feet touched ground, he let his eyes adjust as he strode to meet the other dark, mask figure in her cloak nearby.

“Draco, you’re early,” Bellatrix said.

“Best to maximize our time. Mind telling me what we’re here for now?” he asked. He knew she was smirking under her mask.

“Patience, Draco. I’m eager too, but we will wait for the others,” she said. Draco reluctantly agreed, being left little choice else.

“I love this. The calm before we rain down hell. It’s really something to know what we know and have the privilege to wait while they mill about as if nothing is about to happen,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah. It’s certainly something,” he said noncommittally. There was another brief pause.

“You should be proud of yourself. You’ve come so far. You’ve done better than anyone could have expected of you. You will be great. Your name will be etched into history forever, as you deserve,” she said. He was certain she was right, though perhaps not in the way she intended. Only time would tell. Before he could come up with a vague response there was another small pop and then another shortly followed. Blaise and Theodore, masked and cloak too, made their way over to them.

“I’m anxious to hear your plan, Lestrange. What are we getting ourselves into?” Blaise asked as he sauntered over.

“Now that we’re all met, I’ll divulge,” Bellatrix said in a girlishly excited tone that would have made Draco cringe if he were not so used to it by now and if the potion had not dulled his emotions. “Not far from here, we’ve found the Tonks safehouse.”

Draco was shocked. “But they haven’t been heard from since—”

“Since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the werewolf-whore’s release, yes. My sister might pretend to be a happy homemaker, but she is just as crafty as any Black before her. She had this all planned, they’ve been hiding here with the werewolf’s abomination,” Bellatrix explained.

“What abomination?” Nott asked.

“The son,” Draco said. Bellatrix often ranted about her niece’s marriage to Remus Lupin and the child that was born of their union, though she used much nastier words to describe it.

“Which is what we’re after,” Bellatrix said. “He is to live at all costs. The Dark Lord wonders if breeding the werewolves to make stronger soldiers is a viable option. We need the boy to study him. Andromeda and her daughter need not be spared. Draco, you will search for the boy. Nott and Zabini, you will help me with Andromeda, but do not kill her; She’s mine. Once she’s subdued, you two will search the house for anything and everything we can use against our enemies.”

“And how do we take down the enchantments?” Nott asked.

“We each take a side. Draco, north; Blaise, west; Nott, south; myself, east. We use the Bewitchment Erosion charm which will take some time, but it will bring it down. Then we cast the Dark Mark—”

“Before we’ve killed anyone?”

“To draw Andromeda out. She’ll run out looking for someone’s who’s been killed. I know her,” Bellatrix insisted. “Remember, Draco, as soon as the Dark Mark is in the air, you go in and search. Are we clear on the plan?”

The men agreed and Bellatrix led the way to another clear which they surrounded on four sides. On Bellatrix’s signal, they all began casting the Bewitchment Erosion charm which was a simple spell on its own, but compounded together was powerful. Draco could feel through his wand some magical resistance, signaling they were in the right spot, but it still fought him with all its might. Until it broke. With a shrieking cackle that broke the night, Bellatrix cast the Dark Mark into the sky, masking the starlight in a greenish glow. Before Draco was a small shack, haphazardly built and completely innocuous looking. Three people had been living there for years?

Draco cast aside his questions and transfigured himself into a cloud of black smoke, entering the hovel via a window as Andromeda Tonks burst out the front door in her nightwear, frantically looking at the sky. He heard commotion outside but did not take the time to linger on the sounds. He had a goal. That was all that mattered. He was a bit astonished to find the house was bigger than it had appeared on the outside and quite cozy. He made his way upstairs and searched through the house, finding no one. Just a mundane old house.

He cast a spell Valeria had taught him, _Homavidere_ , which could reveal the location of anyone hiding nearby by a following the faint little light that came from the wand. It had come in handy in nearly all the hunts and raids he had been on. The faint light took him to a bedroom, then to a wall, disappearing into the wood panel. Draco quietly tapped the tip of the finger where the light passed through the wood and could feel it was hollow within. He slid the panel and was met with a tuft of bright blue hair.

But before he could act, he was knocked to the floor, and a child began screaming. Briefly supine, he stunned the child in the wall unconscious, but this allowed his attacker to knock his wand from his hand and beat him with fists. He caught a glimpse of his assailant, a woman with mousy hair that he recognized easily; Nymphadora Lupin. That's why she tackled him. Her wand had been confiscated and broken as her punishment for her involvement in the Order of the Phoenix and clearly she hadn't had an opportunity to replace it. She was thin, weak, and thusly Draco managed to overpower her as she fought him with all her might. She fought hard Draco was sure he’d have quite a few nasty bruises tomorrow. Bellatrix said she didn’t matter, this would be easier without the boy’s mother having to know what was going to happen to her son.

“Since you knocked my wand away, I’m going to have to do this the hard way. I’m sorry,” he said with a harsh whisper as his gloved hands wrapped around her throat and his thumbs pressed on her jugular.

“Drac—Plea—I’m—Your—Cous—” she said between gasps.

“That never mattered before, why do you think it matters now?” he said, pressing harder so she couldn’t speak, straddling her to pin her down. In the dim light of the room, Draco was shock to watch her body change beneath him. Her hair grew out longer, darker in color and silky smooth. Her body shortened in height a few inches and her very bone and muscle structures took different shape. But it was the face that did Draco in. She had Valeria’s face. Draco looked down at his hands as he was strangling his wife.

“Change. Back,” he demanded through his clenched jaw, keeping a stranglehold on her throat, but being met with Valeria’s pleading eyes, paling face and gasping breath. When she did not change form, Draco slammed her head into the floor, over and over, by his grip on the neck. He could hear the crack of bone. But all he saw was himself smashing Valeria’s head bloody into the hardwood. She wouldn’t change and Draco fought his own will. The potion wasn’t working. Had the real Valeria diluted the dosage? Had he taken it too early and it was wearing off? Was it simply not powerful enough for this?

She would not change. Draco held her down by one hand and looked to the boy. The panel was open and he lay unharmed and unconscious, but out in the open. Draco pulled the dagger from his belt, Bellatrix’s gift she had said was a last resort if he was disarmed and pointed it at the boy.

“I’m going to throw this knife and aim for his stomach. I’ll be able to save him. He’ll be fine. But he’ll be conscious and being stabbed in the stomach is long, it is excruciating. Trust me,” Draco said. “And he’ll get to watch his mother die disguised as a stranger. You have a choice. Change back.”

Nymphadora’s eyes, which were in effect Valeria’s right now, were bloodshot and full of tears. Draco looked down at his wife’s face, battered and bloodied and weeping. He couldn’t take it anymore. He raised his arm and loosened his grip on her throat and raised the arm that held the knife.

“No,” Nymphadora wheezed. Draco looked down at her and watched as the face of his nearly dead wife morphed back into the broken face of Nymphadora. Draco got off of her and went for his wand, getting to his feet. She crawled toward her son, but Draco stepped her back, knocking her prone on the floor, and turned her over onto her back with little effort even as he was catching his breath and regathering his nerve. Bellatrix cackled triumphantly outside, and another woman began screaming just after.

“Your mother will die tonight. As will you, most likely,” Draco said flatly, pointing his wand at her. Nymphadora whimpered. “Why did you turn into her?”

“I knew her once. She made sure we all knew you weren’t a monster. If you would show grace to anyone, it’d be only her. Isn’t that right, _Malfoy the Merciful_?” she said before coughing and hacking some more through her hoarse voice. “She loved you, you know. She did so much for you, more than you probably know.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” he spat.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong. But there are things you weren’t around to see—”

“What, when she stayed in that shithole the Weasleys called home and your lot all tried to play nice with her? You nearly got her killed! Everyone thought she had switched sides and I had to made sure to set the record straight—” He cut himself off. He was getting too angry. “This is about you.”

“Are you going to try to kill my son? Because you will die here if you point your wand at him again—”

“No. He’s to be kept alive at all costs.”

“Why? What could You-Know-Who possibly want with a little boy?”

“He’s half-werewolf. He wants the boy examined to see if his father’s genetic contribution could make him, and potentially future half-werewolves, an asset,” Draco said. The woman would be dead in the next few minutes. Draco had no problem telling her the truth, especially after how enraged he had become when she had taken Valeria’s face.

“But he’s not! They examined him at birth. He’s not a werewolf!”

“Wasn’t my idea. It’s not my call,” Draco said. Nymphadora began to sob and panic. Andromeda was still screaming outside to Bellatrix’s delight. Draco felt chills go up his spine. “Look, I’ll make it quick, but we’re running out of time, so I need to be done soon. All I have to do is call for the others and—”

“There’s another way.”

“What?”

“Him and I are Metamorphagi. I can transfigure myself into him. I can take my son’s place—”

Draco laughed. “No. That won’t work.”

“It will! I will have the same genetic and physical makeup as him, just like Polyjuice Potion, it’s completely undetectable and I can maintain it indefinitely. Draco, you know the truth. You know they’ll find nothing useful in my son and they’ll just kill him. Why not just let it be me? He can disguise himself forever and he’ll never trouble you. He’s stunned. You can erase his memory. He won’t even know it was you,” she said. “Please, Draco. Do one right thing.”

Draco looked at the boy. He remembered the Muggle girl in Godric’s Hollow he saved. He didn’t know what came over him then and he didn’t know what was coming over him now.

“Can he do it too? Transform himself?”

She nodded eagerly. “He can.”

“I’ll wake him up. Have him change into you. I’ll stun him again so that he looks like your corpse. I’ll stun you and hand you over. You’ll stay in his form unconscious?”

“Yes. It has to be a conscious change.”

“Alright. Say your goodbyes. Quickly before I change my mind.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. Now say goodbye.”

Tearfully, with Draco’s wand still aimed at her, she crawled to her unconscious son and Draco woke him with magic. The boy began to cry but she held his face and whispered to him. Draco didn’t listen. It was too private, and he didn’t want to hear. He had to block it all out. But he watched as the boy turned into his own mother, just as she was now.

“Remember, I love you. Always. I’ll never leave you, even if it seems like I have. Alright? Promise me you’ll remember that?” she begged the boy, who looked the same as her, and he nodded. She turned to Draco and tearfully nodded to him. Draco stunned the boy again.

“Your turn,” Draco said.

“Is Valeria alive?"

“Yes,” Draco said.

“Is she alright?”

“No,” he said. “Stop stalling.”

“You realize this is the first time we’ve ever met,” she said.

“And the last.”

“Where will you take him?” she asked, weeping again.

“Probably best you don’t know, or they could find out and we’re all dead. I have a place in mind. He might not be safe there forever, but for now.”

“Why are you agreeing to this?”

“Because Valeria was right about me. Your turn,” he said. She nodded and transformed herself into her son. Without a word, without any final sentimentality or ceremony, Draco stunned her, and she fell to the floor. He quickly cast a memory charm on the boy, who was disguised as his own mother, and erased the last hour of memory. He put away his wand and lifted the Nymphadora in the form of her son and carried her out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.

Andromeda was still screaming, writhing on the ground as Bellatrix danced around her sister as she cast the curse. Bellatrix stopped and beamed brightly at Draco once she noticed him approach. Blaise and Nott were standing nearby, apparently Bellatrix had wanted an audience. Andromeda looked up once Bellatrix had lifted the curse and lunged in horror towards Draco, crying out in agonized grief, but her strength failed her, and she could hardly lift herself off the ground.

Bellatrix cried out in triumph and applauded Draco. “And the whore mother? Where’s she?!”

“Dead,” Draco said. Andromeda wailed again.

“You…You’re Narcissa’s son…That boy is your family!” she cried out.

“Shut up!” Bellatrix shrieked and cursed her sister again.

“Just get it over with Bella. It’s what you’ve always wanted!” Andromeda shouted once Bellatrix had relented. Draco looked at his other aunt, the first time he’d seen her in the flesh, and noticed just how closely she resembled Bellatrix. It was uncanny.

“Oh, but Cissy’s going to want to see you too. Did you not consider your own sister, Andromeda? Tsk, tsk. We can have a little sisterly reunion. Now wouldn’t that just be great fun!?” Bellatrix said. Draco marched over to Blaise and passed the boy, actually Nymphadora, to him.

“Take him to Daphne. She’ll know what to do. Nott, did you find anything?” Draco said.

“They didn’t have much,” Nott said.

“Right. Well, your work here is done,” Draco said, dismissing the both of them. Draco went back into the house, but Bellatrix, still tormenting her sister, stopped him when he got to the doorstep.

“Where are you going?”

“Taking the whore’s body to the Forbidden Forest. Snape told me there’s a ravenous pack of werewolves there. I imagine they’d love something fresh. Seems fitting,” he said. Andromeda cried while Bellatrix laughed, a combination of sound that made him ill.

“You’ve gotten funnier as you’ve gotten older. On your way then!” Bellatrix dismissed. Draco went back up to the stairs and took the boy, currently disguised as Nymphadora, in his arms. The boy seemed small for his age, but he was just as easy to lift in his mother’s form. They hadn’t been eating much for a while, he could tell. He apparated out of the house to the one place there was hope the boy would be safe. Andromeda was, unfortunately, unsavable.

He cast a silencing charm on himself and quickly waved his wand to detect any magical alarms. Finding none, he carefully picked the body up and unlocked the door, silently entering the house. He did not want to linger, and so he placed the boy, appearing as a grown woman still, on the couch gently. There was some parchment and a quill on a table nearby and he scrawled out a note,

_Take care of him._

And so he departed The Burrow, certain that Weasley was in for a rude awakening in the morning. Draco still did not know what had come over him or why he so easily agreed to his cousin’s plan. He remembered himself slamming her head into the floor, seeing it as Valeria’s head. He heard her skull bones crack and felt her fighter for air in his hands. With each slam, each crack, each little gasp, his heart cracked further and further. Seeing that, doing that, had stirred something in him.

Which was why, when he returned to Malfoy Manor, he did not immediately retreat to the guestroom he had made his own during his quarrel with Valeria. Instead, he went straight to master chamber. He had to see her, even if she was going to kill him, he had to see her. She sat bolt upright when he burst the door open. It was not yet dawn, but the sky was turning blue in twilight. She stared hatefully at him once her panic subsided. His hair was a mess, and he was sure his expression looked exhausted too, but that didn’t matter to him.

“Get out,” she said.

He wasn’t here to grovel. He wasn’t here to beg. He would not admit wrongdoing. He wasn’t here to ask forgiveness. He didn’t need to be forgiven. He just needed to be touched. He needed her to touch him. It wasn’t about lust. He just needed her to touch him. He just needed her.

He did not obey her but went to the bed and stood at the side. He leaned down, resting his hands on the mattress and looking at her. She sneered in disgust at him, clutching the blankets up to her chest.

“How repulsed are you by me? How horrible do you find me?” he asked.

“Draco, don’t…”

“I need to know,” he said with a harsh whisper. He saw her, alive and unharmed, but his mind flashed back to how he was smashing her head in. How Goyle groped her at Christmas. He shook himself out of it and awaited an answer. She breathed heavily, seething with resentment, not answering his damn question. He remembered Nymphadora’s words, how Valeria once said she did not think Draco to be a monster. He had to know. He would stay in this room with her until she gave him one.

“You’re horrible. You don’t repulse me,” she eventually said. An answer that shocked him. An answer he didn’t what to make of and, judging by the look on her face, neither did she. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently reached for her hand. She did not resist him nor pull away. He guided her hand to his cheek and pressed her palm to it. He felt intoxicated with relief then and there, thought he tried to hide it. Her touch felt like magic. He hadn’t even noticed a small tear or two leave his eye, but he felt her thumb rub them away.

He looked at her, tears in her eyes too. Her hand stayed to his cheek on its own, though he did not let go of it. It was so small and soft in his hand. On instinct, without a word, he drew closer to her, climbing on top of her. She did not resist him, instead brushing the hair away from his face. He leaned down to kiss her softly and she returned his affections. Slowly, gently, they did so, drawing each other closer as they did until Valeria broke away.

“I’m still angry with you,” she said.

“Likewise,” he said.


	12. Dark Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is too long. I'm sorry.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Death. Violence. Blood. Discussion of rape/non-con. Mild consensual sexual content. Discussion of violence, death and physical/psychological torture.

**July 1998**

During the war, it was impossible to plan ahead. Each hour could bring some new surprise or terror to face. Now that it was over, it was hard to let go of that anxiety and ever harder for Valeria to accept that this was it. This was the way of the world. Snape had been giving Valeria’s assignments and assisted with constructing a proper potions laboratory for her the north wing of Malfoy Manor. He claimed it was for her to do her part for the cause, but she suspected his efforts were also a means of distracting her from caving in on herself.

It was not going well. Whilst Draco was out risking life and limb hunting down insurgents and dissidents, she was locked up in her room making Veritaserum for the cause. A tricky enough potion as it was, her shaking hands and distracted mind caused her to ruin three batches already. Dumping out this last failed batch, Valeria sat at a desk with her head on the table, trying to calm her pounding heart. She felt her heart nearly strangle itself with anxiety when the door creaked open.

Odessa Winters went to her daughter and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You can take a break,” Odessa said calmly.

“I have to get this done,” Valeria stuttered out. Odessa gently guided Valeria to sit up and crouched down to look into her daughter’s eyes.

“You must save this, your fears, for later when you’re alone. You can’t let anyone who might wander in her to see you like this. You cannot afford to show weakness,” Odessa said.

“I’m not weak,” Valeria spat through her teeth.

“No, you’re not. So don’t act like you are,” Odessa said before taking a pause, gripping Valeria’s hand. “Your name might be Malfoy, but you are a Winters first; The last of the Winters and we allow nothing less than perfection, nor will this world.”

Valeria burst into tears. The trauma, the stress, the fear collapsing onto her like a tidal wave. “I can’t…I can’t do this—”

Odessa’s hand clamped down harder on Valeria’s. “You don’t have a choice. Listen to me. You know I wanted none of this for you. I imagine if your father were still here, he would not rest until he would not rest until he avenged everything that has happened to you. But he’s dead and he would want you to rise to your station as his heir.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be the heir—”

“No, but Konstantin is gone too,” Odessa said. Valeria sobbed again at the sound of her brother’s name. “Look at me. Do you understand why we worked so long to train you? Why we dressed you in the finest clothes, made certain a hair on your head was never out of place? Had you practice poise and posture since you could walk?”

“For…for our reputation…”

“That was part of it, of course. An added benefit. But it was to give you the tools you need to survive in this world your father and brother helped build, the world that is now yours to live in, thrive in. Your self-control, your perfection will keep you, keep Draco safe. All you have to do is play your part without a single misstep. By any means necessary, darling. By _any_ means.”

“So I have to live the rest of my life being Draco’s perfect little wife? A pretty puppet on a string?”

“Never. But let them think that’s all you are. Let everyone underestimate you, everyone except you.”

**March 2003**

Valeria sat on the floor after another attempt, surrounded by notes and books, searching for some ghost of a clue as to where she was going wrong. She jumped out of her skin when the door creaked open. The dim light of from the hallway outside cast the intruder in shadow.

“Just me,” Draco said. She sighed, partially relieved, partially annoyed. They hadn’t talked about what happened the other night, how she had willingly allowed him into her bed. She had been kicking herself for giving into her own base desires, giving into how much she missed Draco, when she was still so furious at him that she could barely stand to look at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“No, just got in,” he said as he approached. He was carrying two glasses and handed her one. “Working on that Patronus thing?”

“It’s not some _thing_ ,” she said, feeling the sweet burn of the brandy slither down her throat.

“Fine, your project then. Are you sure it’s even possible?”

She shoved papers along the floor towards him. “All my research points to the possibility, at least in theory.”

“In theory…” he said, taking some of the notes in hand.

“If you have any ideas, I’m all ears,” she said through an aggravated sigh. “You never even took Magical Theory so I highly doubt—"

“I was always better at Charms than you, but that’s not why I’m here,” he said before taking a deep inhale and setting the notes aside. “We need to pack.”

“For what?”

“We’re going to Estonia.”

“Why?!”

“A diplomatic mission. The Dark Lord is seeking to expand into Eastern Europe, and it’s been decided that we will begin negations with the Prime Minister of Estonia’s Magical Parliament to peacefully bring them into the fold,” Draco said.

“And why do I have to go? I thought Snape was in charge of those sorts of matters. I have to speak with Boot tomorrow.”

Draco scoffed. “Terry Boot should be the least important thing on your mind right now. The Dark Lord wants Snape close and he has to manage Hogwarts. As for you, we’ll be staying with the Prime Minister, his family, as high-ranking representatives of wizarding Britain and the Dark Lord. We need to present a united front and you have ties there on your mother’s side…”

“Distant relations a few generations back! Take my mother with you then,” she said indignantly.

“Don’t play stupid,” Draco said, taking a few steps closer. “I don’t like this either—”

“Will you stop saying that every time you force my hand like it means something?” she said. She could tell that Draco was wounded by the remark.

“I’ll be blunt if that’s what you want. You don’t have a choice and you will be on your best behavior. We need all that Winters charm and I expect you to use it. If I have to use the Imperius Curse—”

Draco was usually stiff and irritable when he was assigned an unpleasant task, but this was different. He was far more anxious now and trying to hide it. She laughed. “You don’t have it in you, even if you wanted to.”

He finished his drink in one go and walked toward her, looming over her with a domineering gaze. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face as he exhaled. “You don’t want to know what I’d do. No antics. If you do well, I’ll consider reinstating your privileges.”

She was not about to back down. “You mean my basic liberties? And if I fail in your eyes, what will you do? What more do you have to take from me?”

“Don’t—”

“Was it worth it, Draco? Was it worth killing Potter to save me?” she spat. His lip quivered in rage.

“Never say that name!” he said with a threatening tone. “I didn’t kill him.”

“You know that’s not true and I know trying to force yourself to believe doesn’t make you sleep better at night,” she said. His jaw trembled as he clenched, as if trying to stop himself from overreacting. Instead, he turned and threw his glass across the room, breaking the quiet of the room with its shatter. Valeria didn’t flinch. He turned back to her, breathing heavy.

“This doesn’t have to work between us. I can live with that, but this does have to work for everyone else and so you will do as you’re told,” he said before marching for the door, but he turned as his hand touched the knob. “And it was worth it to me, I’m sorry that it wasn’t worth it for you.”

Arm in arm, Draco and Valeria arrived at the stately medieval manor of Prime Minister Rasmus Sisask after a long journey late the following day. They were both dressed well in dark, elegant robes. If Draco wanted perfection, Valeria was determined to show him the definition of the word.

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!” Rasmus, an older man who had a rather jolly demeanor, surprising Valeria, said with a thick accent as they arrived on the doorstep. He stood with his wife and daughter, who could not have been older than eighteen. He shook Draco’s hand firmly.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Thank you for being our hosts,” Draco said.

“We are quite honored by your visit, sir. I’ve heard tales of your deeds and am eager to talk with you as our two great governments come to an understanding. And this lovely lady must be your famous bride,” Rasmus said.

“My wife, Valeria,” Draco introduced. Valeria offered her gloved hand and Rasmus took it, placing a polite kiss on the back of it.

“The reputation of your beauty precedes you, young lady. You’re descended from the Wenlock family, yes?”

“On my mother’s side, yes. We have always taken pride in our Estonian heritage,” Valeria said with all the polite sensibilities of her station.

“Yes, a legendary family, so very important to our magical history. It is a privilege to welcome you especially into my halls, Mrs. Malfoy. Might I introduce you to my wife, Lisandra and my daughter Yelena.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sisask,” Valeria said, greeting Lisandra.

“Our home is your home. Rasmus, I think we should let our guests rest. They’ve had such a long journey,” Lisandra said. Lisandra reminded Valeria of her own mother in grace and poise, though she was softer spoken than Valeria had expected.

“My wife is right, where are my manners? Please come inside. Your things arrived before you and already brought to your chamber,” Rasmus said.

As they were led to their guest chamber, Valeria was impressed with the aesthetic of the interiors. Magical artifacts of priceless value, she guessed, were prominently on display and there was a simple, austere elegance that reminded her of the Winters castle in Wales. She was disappointed to discover that she and Draco would be sharing a room, though she couldn’t have expected Draco to ask for separate quarters without raising questions. Large and stately as it was, she could not say she was pleased despite smiling and kindly thanking their hosts.

“Should you need anything, simply ring this should you need anything. Our servants are prepared to assist you at any hour,” Rasmus said, gesturing to a small handbell sat on a platter on a table in the center of the room. Once they were left alone, Draco got to work unpacking his notes and what he needed for his diplomatic work here, but Valeria was busy ensuring that her clothes were properly stored, using magic of course.

“I saw your face when you saw the bed,” Draco said. “I’ll sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

She shook her head. “We can’t risk one of the servants noticing us sleep separately.”

Before Draco can answer there was a knock and Draco called for them to enter. In walked in a young woman, maybe only a few years older than Valeria and Draco, in plain, severe looking robes, short hair and wearing a thick silver colored band tight around her neck. She stepped into the room carrying a large silver platter with tightly folded sheets of parchment on it.

“What is it?” Draco asked the woman, but she did not reply. She merely bowed her head and held out the platter towards Draco. He took the parchments from the woman and dismissed her, but the woman’s eyes met Valeria’s for a brief moment and the look made the latter’s blood run cold for a second. Draco handed Valeria one of the parchments to find, _Mrs. Draco Malfoy_ elegantly scrawled upon it. She rolled her eyes when she opened it, but her annoyance turned to bewilderment upon reading it.

“What the hell is this?” she asked Draco, who was looking over his own parchment.

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize an itinerary when you see one,” he said.

“Look at this,” she said going up to him, brandishing her parchment. “I’ve got a ‘Ladies Luncheon’ tomorrow after an ‘Estate Tour’? My entire day is planned down to the hour.”

“Mine too,” Draco said, showing her his own itinerary. While he was also scheduled for the estate tour, he was scheduled to spend a lot of time with Rasmus and other high ranking political men in the Estonian Ministry.

“This is absurd,” she said.

“You didn’t expect this to be a holiday did you?”

“No, but I at least expected to have some say in what my day looks like. I have that at home and I’m not even allowed to leave the house,” she protested. Draco shot her a look and set his itinerary down.

“It’s only a week. Who knows, you might even enjoy it. You’re good at these things, which is precisely why you’re here,” he said.

“I do when it’s on my terms—”

“It’s not. Nor is it on mine, so you will do your job as I’ll do mine.”

“So while you play at master of the universe you get to parade me around like a set of new robes—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I get the responsibility of negotiating terms with Sisask to get a foothold in Eastern Europe so that when the Dark Lord does decide to takeover, the transition will happen with as few people _dying_ as possible. Would you like to trade places?!”

Valeria did not answer, casting her gaze down. It was hard from her not to be selfish from the outside. It was difficult not to envy, what she perceived to be, Draco’s freedom, even prior to him enforcing her confinement. Perhaps that illusion was partially his own fault for purposely keeping the weight of his burdens to himself as best he could. Though of course, she would not have been so prickly about this if it had not been for Draco withholding her freedoms at home. She could manage this for a week. She already had plenty of practice over the years.

The next morning, Valeria awoke a little earlier than Draco to find him asleep near the other edge of the large, ornate bed and herself nearly at the opposite edge. She smiled to herself a little, remembering their wedding night and how their modesty and youthful bashfulness caused them to sleep in a similar way; as far apart as they could without falling off the bed. Only now, it was their own bubbling anger at one another that drove them apart.

Breakfast was dull, full of niceties and mundane pleasantries. The estate tour was even duller, as Rasmus recounted his long family history and showed off his collection of portraits and artifacts. At one point, he yelled at another servant in his native tongue, who was dressed the same as the servant who had delivered the itineraries. In fact, all the servants she saw were dressed the same, the metal ring about their necks included, and none of them said a single word.

The luncheon, when she and Draco were separated according to sex, was oddly enough more relaxing than she had expected. The spacious sunroom was warm, and the ample amount of wine served certainly helped calm Valeria’s sour mood. Unsurprisingly, Lisandra’s other guests were the wives of the powerful men that Draco was taking lunch with and they were all especially curious about her.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me,” one woman asked in a thick accent and an unsure tone. “But your scar, Mrs. Malfoy, I am…curious.”

“Sofia,” Lisandra scolded. “Please forgive her, Mrs. Malfoy, she gets—how do you say—gossipy when she drinks too much wine.”

“I promise you I take no offense,” Valeria said. While that was true, she was not keen on having her scar pointed out even on the best of days. “I received it during the war.” The women were taken aback, almost scandalized with shock.

“You fought…?” Lisandra asked.

“Not really, no. I was…caught in the crossfire, unfortunately,” Valeria said, which was barely true. She remembered Bellatrix Lestrange, tensing her grip on her wine glass, fantasizing once more in the back of her mind the immense pleasure she would someday have of killing the woman.

“I am sure your handsome husband saw to it that the monster was punished,” another woman said.

“Erna, you’re old enough to be his mother!” Lisandra playfully scolded. “Don’t mind her. She is a notorious flirt, but she is harmless.”

“Draco ensured vengeance, yes,” Valeria said, again not quite lying, but certainly not being honest.

“I would expect nothing less, I’m sure he was unstoppable after those vile people kidnapped you,” Sofia said, to the agreement of the other women. The entire ordeal after Bellatrix attacked her years ago was a blur and Valeria could not tell them what was true or not, though she never understood why Potter of all people wanted to forcibly kidnap her.

“Indeed, I’m very lucky to have him,” Valeria said.

“Handsome, brave and decent. I’m sure you’re the envy of every witch in Britain. You two shall make the most beautiful children,” Erna said. Valeria nearly choked on her wine.

“Yes, why is it you haven’t started yet?” Sofia asked while the other women giggled.

“They are a nosy bunch, I’m sorry,” Lisandra said. Valeria smiled serenely, her default when she was horribly uncomfortable.

“Draco, and myself, are dedicated to the Dark Lord’s cause for now. Once we can spare the time, we’ll rise to that duty as well. We’re young enough, we still have plenty of time,” Valeria said.

“Mrs. Malfoy is wise. Blessing this world with more pureblood tradition is certainly one of our most sacred duties, but nor is it something that should be rushed into. Wouldn’t you agree, ladies?” Lisandra said. The women nodded and muttered earnest words of agreement. Fortunately, the conversation shifted until the luncheon was concluded and Lisandra offered to escort Valeria to her next item on the itinerary. They descended down the many stairs of the mansion, deeper into the older parts of the building.

“I hear you are accomplished with potions,” Lisandra asks.

“I have an aptitude, if it’s not too bold of me to say so. I craft potions and solutions when it is asked of me,” Valeria said.

“Then let me show you our own collections, perhaps it’ll be of interest to you,” Lisandra said.

“Certainly,” Valeria said as they stopped at a door down in the lowest floor of the manor beneath the ground. Lisandra knocked and Valeria’s heart dropped into her stomach when Silas Barakov answered the door. Judging by how his face drained of color, he recognized her too.

“Barakov, this is Mrs. Valeria Malfoy, visiting from Britain, and she is a potioneer in her own right. I cleared this time in your schedule for you to show her your laboratory and your recent breakthroughs,” Lisandra said before noticing the way the other two looked at each other. “Are already acquainted?”

“Yes, we met some years ago back at Hogwarts. Mr. Barakov is a friend of one of my old Potions mentors,” Valeria said.

“How wonderful! A reunion then. Barakov, please show Mrs. Malfoy your hospitality and Valeria, I shall see you at dinner,” Lisandra said. Valeria thanked the woman and was reluctantly allowed into the laboratory by Silas. The room was dark and dank, not unlike the dungeons of Hogwarts where the Potions classroom was, yet it was a proper laboratory obviously built by an expert and kept quite clean. Thankfully, the room had no windows and only the one exit so there was no fear of sudden interruption or surveillance.

“I’m sorry…” Silas began in a thick accent and coarse voice. “They did not tell me the name of the person who I would be showing the laboratory to…”

“Nor did I know you were here,” she said, remaining stiff and dignified to quell her unease. She had met Silas her sixth year. It was he who had given her his own book of rare poisons in which she found the very solution that Draco used, unbeknownst to her, to attempt to assassinate Dumbledore, but was instead drunk by Ronald Weasley instead. She met Silas at a Slug Club party and she remembered him to be a haughty sort of intellectual, quite like Slughorn. But this man was merely a ghost of the former one. “How did you get here?”

Silas’s face contorted, his grizzly white beard moving with his face. “Punishment.”

“For what?”

“If you will forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy, I do not wish to discuss the details of my situation with you. Just look around, ask questions about the work and be on your way,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.

“Beg all you like,” he said. “That doesn’t change that I know who you are. I know what you’ve done.” Valeria was taken aback by the boldness of his words. Hardly anyone, save for Draco and others who outranked her, dared to even raise their voice too loud to her.

“I brewed that poison back then out of curiosity. I even dumped it out. I didn’t realize that some of it had been taken and—”

“Taken by your husband, you mean?”

“He wasn’t my husband then.”

“No, but you were aiding him—”

“I had no idea he was trying to assassinate Dumbledore and believe me I tried to find out what he was doing, but—”

“You were an ignorant child then, but you are not one now. I did not ask you for your excuses—”

She took a fierce step toward him. “I regret what I did, always have, but I did not put you in this place, so you gain nothing from taking it out on me.”

“You think so? You know, word travels outside of Hogwarts’s walls. When the extended Potion community discovered that I had given a little girl the means to poison her own classmate, hardly anyone would work with me. I’m sure you can see how this would damage the reputation of a Potions Master, especially one whose specialty is poisons. I was forced to work independently, underground. I lost a great deal—”

“And I’m sorry. But I did not put you here.”

“You didn’t let me finish. When your Dark Lord won his war, Sisask and his ilk finally felt powerful enough to overthrow our Parliament and did so with success. As I had been working underground for a while by then, I knew how to get things. I knew how to smuggle things in and out through the black markets. It was not long until desperate Muggleborns asked for my help. And so I did. I was caught when two wanted individuals, very wanted, came to me for help and I did. They escaped. I didn’t. Rather than execute me or worse, Sisask offered to me to pay my debt by working here for him and under his watch. I would have rather died.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Because I knew that if I did not take his offer, they would have found some eager, twisted zealot instead to perform experiments on the Squibs and the Muggleborns, as you call them. So you see, while you may not have known the extent of what you’ve done, I still do blame you.”

Valeria’s face twisted in rage as her blood boiled over. “I was a scared, nearly orphaned sixteen-year-old girl with a price on my head if Draco had failed his task who then became a child soldier’s child bride. I am sorry about what happened to you, but I was really in no position to examine the consequences of my actions thousands of miles away!”

“And I did not expect this. I still don’t. You played me like a musician plays the piano for your own ends. You were good at it, by the looks of it you still are. You will do the same here, convincing Sisask to ally with your Dark Lord and soon, the rest of Eastern Europe, I’m sure,” he said.

“We’re here to keep the peace—” she said.

He laughed. “Who told you that? Your husband, and you believed him? I thought you were intelligent.”

“I trust Draco the most out of anyone I have ever known—”

“Then it’s your funeral.”

Valeria was nearly trembling with rage. “You never even met him. You met me at a couple parties years ago and you have the audacity to assume—”

“No need to assume. Your story is legend here.”

“What?”

“Why do you think the Sisasks are so eager to have you? To show you off to their friends and peers? To impress you with their property, their wealth, their influence? Everyone knows your story, Mrs. Malfoy. The children learn about it in school. The young men and women aspire to be just like you.”

Valeria looked at him, baffled, staring blankly. “That’s not possible. No one would want—”

“I didn’t say they know the truth, just the story. No, it’s been twisted into quite the romantic tale. Draco Malfoy, the Chosen One’s childhood rival, who married the love of life to preserve the purity of their bloodlines and bravely overcame his fears to hand over the Chosen One to the Dark Lord to save his beloved’s life. He’s a noble hero here, who has risen to his duty and climbed the ranks of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters and is even poised to eventually take Snape’s position, if what Sisask says is correct,” Silas said with a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone.

“That says nothing about me,” she said through her teeth.

“No? You’re the woman, beautiful, graceful, with the world tied around her finger who became the damsel in distress. Intelligent, but soft, tragically ripped from her husband’s arms by Harry Potter and forced to do his bidding until you were rescued. It’s neat and tidy, isn’t it? Was that the way of it at all?”

“I—I don’t remember…” she said, so taken aback by all this that she couldn’t think straight. Being kidnapped by Potter was one of those spots in her memory that went fuzzy when she tried to recall it. The Healers told her it was likely due to the many traumas she had suffered and the chaos of the war, but there was always something about that explanation that did not seem quite right.

“It doesn’t matter if you remember. Sisask has taken your tale and used it to show this region how love prospers in the Dark Lord’s world. If you love the Dark Lord and the cause, then all kinds of love shall be given unto you. Your story has helped him achieve his goals a great deal and cost many Muggleborns their lives—”

Valeria could not take it anymore and with one swift motion sent the vials and glassware on the table before her to the floor as tears escaped her eyes.

“You speak as though you’re an expert in separating truth from deception, but it seems I’m not the one that played. You want honesty? Here it is; I was honest when I met you. I wanted to study. I loved the craft. I was fascinated by it. I appreciated your kindness, and I did love that book you gave me. I did not play you. I can hear in your voice how much you want me to suffer, and so you will be delighted to know that I have been from the moment Draco slipped this ring on my finger.”

“You hate him,” Silas said softly.

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“You care for him?” Silas said, sounding disgusted. “Do you know what he’s done? The stories spread outside of Britain. He burned the Muggles in Godric’s Hollow alive, he slits the throats of Muggleborns without batting an eye, he orchestrates hunts, executions—”

“I know what he is,” she said, not knowing if she believed herself. “I don’t hate him. I wish I did.”

Silas was quiet for a moment as they stared at each other. Valeria saw her future in him. Old and worn, stuck in a lonely laboratory making potions and poisons for horrific ends for a master she hated. It brought tears to her eyes once more. She had to swallow her pride, try to make things right with Draco, or else she too would end up like Silas without any pride left to spare. It was against her nature, and she deeply resented Draco for more than she realized, but she still loved him to the point that her heart ached to be without him.

“You would have made an excellent Master of Poison,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“What’s the most important thing to know about poisons?”

“The Three Laws dictate that—”

“Damn the laws. Mastering poisons is about knowing when, where and with what to strike. Like a snake waiting in the tall grass. It’s about knowing how to read people and even important to be able to read oneself. You would have been great, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“I no longer can be?”

“None of us can.”

Valeria went to the door without another word. She could not bear to be locked away down there any longer, but she stopped herself short and turned.

“I will not share our conversation with anyone if you answer me honestly,” she said.

“And what would that be?”

“You said you worked underground, familiar with black markets. Any chance you know how to acquire basilisk fangs?” she asked.

His face paled again, but he quickly composed himself. “What do you need them for?”

“I have my own work to do, not unlike you,” she said.

“Even on black markets, it’s been many years since I’ve encountered a basilisk fang. I doubt there’s any way to get a hold of one any time soon.”

Valeria quickly and magically cleaned herself up from her tears before reuniting with Draco shortly thereafter for pictures and interview with the local magical newspaper. Afterwards, there was enough of a break in the schedule before dinner for the two of them to be alone in their guest chamber. Draco ranted to her how it went with the men, which was all very dull and rife with political jargon. He sat across from her, slouched in his chair with legs lazily spread out, much like he used to do in the common room back at Hogwarts. Valeria thought she was looking back in time for a moment. She told him of the gossipy time spent with the wives, surprised that it was much more pleasant than what Draco had described with the men.

“And how was the Potions Master? Barakov, right?” he asked, head tipped back staring at the ceiling.

“It was fine,” she said softly.

“That name sounds familiar, have you heard of him before? Sisask says he’s a very accomplished Potions Master.”

“Yes, I was familiar with him,” she said, even softer before sighing. “Draco, Silas Barakov was the poisons expert Slughorn acquainted me with sixth year, the Slug Club, remember? The one who gave me the book—”

Draco tipped his head up and looked at her. “The book with the poison that I had put in that wine?”

“Yes.”

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Shit. I’m sorry. If I had known I would have—”

“It’s fine.”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. “Did he do anything? Say anything?”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” she said. Draco gaze darkened as he looked at her more severely.

“What did he say? No, don’t deflect. Tell me what happened,” he said low, as if it were an order. She complied, retelling what had passed between her and Silas. She saw Draco grow more tense with insult and anger as she told it.

“He blames us. Me for ruining his career with that poison, and you for Potter and all the rest…” she said, but at the sound of Potter’s name Draco got right to his feet.

“I’m going to talk to Sisask,” he said. Valera grabbed his wrist hard.

“Draco, please don’t,” she pleaded. He looked at her surprised but didn’t try to pull away. In fact, he took a step closer.

“We’re guests here, Sisask wouldn’t want us insulted under his own roof and I’m not about to stand for my wife being berated by someone who hasn’t the faintest—”

“I don’t want him to suffer more than he already has. We both said what we needed to say. Let it be,” she said, looking up at Draco into those cold eyes the color of steel that had beheld her with more love than any others, and, to her surprise now, still did. Draco decided this once to relent, to not oblige his violent urges that flared in him when his anger erupted. Looking at her now, he realized how he had denied her so much for so long and he had no strength to deny her this now. Draco gently wriggled his wrist out of her grasp and slid his hand down to take hers, running his thumb on the little bones forming the base knuckles of her hand.

“You’re far more merciful than I am, despite what they call me,” he said referring to his nickname, _Malfoy the Merciful._

She shook her head. “If you would have seen how miserable he is, you’d understand. He told me he’d rather be dead than be here.”

“Then why not just die?” Draco asked with a casualness that would have bothered her a long time ago.

“Apparently he’s the only thing stopping them from experimenting on others, like the servants and such—" she began but was stopped by Draco’s face dropped in solemn understanding.

“Probably for the best then. Those women are miserable enough,” he said wistfully.

“What do you mean?”

He curled his bottom lip inward and shifted his weight on his feet. “Calling them servants is a kind thing to call them. They don’t use house elves here. Once Rasmus and his allies felt empowered enough by the Dark Lord, they went after the Muggleborns, but instead of doing as we’ve done, they’ve used them and those that sympathized with them, as labor. Particularly the women. They break their wands, put those collars on them which tighten around their throats if they even try to use magic and…Valeria, they cut out their tongues.”

“Why the hell would they—?” she began, revolted.

“So they can’t talk to each other or even try to speak spells, why else?” he said. “You should know…They, Sisask and the other men, use them for…” he couldn’t even get the words out, but Valeria understood implicitly.

She swallowed. “They rape them.”

He nodded. “Regularly. Sisask offered to send one to me when you weren’t around at some point. I politely declined of course. Don’t look at me like that. As desperate as I am for that sort of attention after you’ve denied me all this time, I have no desire to sleep with other women especially women who have no interest in sleeping with me nor do I find the idea remotely arousing. The last thing I need is more women to keep track of; you cause me enough grief as it is.” His last statement was a poor attempt at a joke and Valeria rolled her eyes.

“Thank you very much for your high praise,” she began sarcastically. “But I’m more concerned with how you _politely_ turned down the offer to rape—”

“And what did you expect me to say? Would you have had me spin some insult about how in Britain, purebloods fucking mudbloods is concerned just shy of bestiality and risk insulting him when he’s supposed to be our ally?”

“You could have expressed some kind of distaste for raping them,” she said.

“And claim some sort of moral high ground? That would have been rich, coming from me. Do you really think we’re better than them just because the Death Eaters don’t go around raping Muggleborns?”

“You had no problem claiming the moral high ground after what Goyle did to Pansy. After what he tried to do to me,” she said. She had struck a nerve. Draco’s expression darkened and contorted in disgust.

“That was different.”

“Why? Because it was me?”

“Yes, because it was you!” Draco shouted, nearly at the top of his lungs. “And I don’t claim the moral high ground for killing my former friend, a guest in my home, or forcing him to drink the unicorn blood because I didn’t care about the ethics then, nor do I now. My only regret is that Goyle didn’t suffer longer! You really haven’t gotten it yet, have you? You orchestrated my nightmare and stand there perplexed and pissed off wondering why I can’t trust you.”

“I already apologized—!”

“But you don’t understand!” he yelled, stepping toward her, towering over her again. “No one hurts you more than I already have and live to talk about it. I have loved you since I was fourteen, guarded your life since I was sixteen. I have killed, tortured, ruined every other life I ever touched, and let this world burn all for _you_. It _was_ different because it was you. It was different because I love you.”

“I never asked that of you. Ever.”

“That’s the point of loving someone, isn’t it? You don’t have to ask.”

“Even if you hate loving them?”

“I would imagine,” he said, and she watched something primal overtake his gaze as their bodies nearly touched. “You hate that you love me?

“Yes.”

“But you love me?”

“Yes,” she whispered honestly. His hand reached forward, cupping her cheek and then lifting her chin.

“Then show me. Show me that you still love me.”

“Draco…” she said before his other hand cupped the other side her face.

“They can take everything else from us, but we don’t have to let them take this,” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“ _You_ took this from us.”

He grabbed her round the waist suddenly, running his hands over body. “Then let me return it. Let me show you that I cannot stop loving you even if it would be easier for both of us if I could. I can do it like I used to. Like how it was when we were better people. I can’t be the man you want or deserve, but I am yours and that can be enough.” 

“We have dinner…”

Valeria and Draco barely had time to get ready for dinner after Valeria found herself unable to resist Draco’s advances. She had missed him desperately and she was annoyed at herself for enjoying their tryst as much as she did. Yet, her stubbornness was cracking. She was still furious with him, but perhaps she was beginning to forgive him. These thoughts preoccupied Valeria throughout dinner, being unable to look at Rasmus without her skin crawling.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up when the servants tending the meal came near her. She tried not to be too polite to them and could not help but feel some nauseating cocktail of guilt and revulsion in her gut. One in particular, the one who delivered their itineraries the night before, kept staring at her and Draco with malice in her exhausted eyes.

The week would have been enjoyable if it were not exhausting and if their purpose were not so dark. Soirees, dinners, tours of historical sites and the Parliament, interviews and meetings with important people, late night drinking and even a Quidditch match that was more ceremonial than anything. When they weren’t playing their parts as diplomats, whether together or separately, Valeria and Draco spent a great deal of time fulfilling their carnal desires to the point that Draco at one point joked that this must be the honeymoon they never got around to planning. Valeria was reluctant to admit that she had been enjoying it as much as Draco had, despite the side effect of soreness at one point. Though she could accept that this was the best they could do to relieve the stress and horror of their circumstances.

One of the items on Valeria’s final itinerary for the last day of their visit was a walk in the gardens with Yelena, the young daughter of Rasmus and Lisandra, who up until now had been completely unremarkable. As the two women took in the fresh, spring air, Yelena was quick to point out the various plants by name and note the history of the estate as they wound their way through the paths. Her perceptiveness coming to her aid, Valeria could quickly tell that this young woman was more than she appeared. She was intelligent, poised, with a pleasant disposition. She reminded Valeria very much of herself.

“I was wondering, Mrs. Malfoy, if I could ask you some…personal questions,” Yelena said shyly.

“Depends on how personal,” Valeria said.

“It’s about marriage,” Yelena said. Valeria stopped and turned. The girl removed the glove on her left hand and held it out to her, displaying a shining diamond ring on her ring finger.

“You’re engaged.”

“I just…I was wondering, Mr. Malfoy is so good to you and so brave. Did you love him when you first married him?” Valeria looked at that young woman like she was looking into a twisted mirror. For all her poise and grace, the girl was terrified, just as Valeria once was. “I mean no offense. I’ve wanted to be just like you for so long that I never really thought about it and now that I have a chance to talk to you…”

Valeria did not want to hear another word about his this girl aspired to be like her. “How long until you’re married?”

“Six months,” Yelena said.

“That’s good. I only had a week’s notice,” Valeria said with a little laugh. “Do you know him at all?”

She nodded. “We went to school together.”

“Even better. I knew Draco my entire life, believe me that helps. As for your question, I have to tell you that I don’t know. It was the middle of the war; a lot had happened prior and I couldn’t really make sense of anything at the time.”

“But you do love him.”

“Yes, eventually I realized I loved him.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I am eager to maintain the purity of old bloodlines, as is our duty, but I’m nervous…”

“As you should be. Do you like him? I mean, do you get on with him? Can you have conversations with him, and do you enjoy being around him?”

“Yes, I think so. He’s smart, he’s going into Parliament. He’s nice to me, always been polite and decent.”

“Then let that be enough for now. Liking him will often serve you better than loving him would, even if you do grow to love him eventually.”

The conversation with naïve Yelena could not get out of Valeria’s head even after dinner as their luggage was being packed away. The only distraction was that Draco had not returned from his post-dinner excursion with Rasmus. According to Draco, they were off to celebrate coming to an agreement in their diplomatic negotiations with other powerful men. Valeria kept herself awake with worry with a book, until the chamber door flew open, startling her.

Draco lumbered into the room, pale as a sheet looking nearly ill with shock. Instinctively, she rushed to him, but he flinched at her touch.

“Sorry…I…” he started, trying to get the words out of his shaking breath.

“What’s happened?”

“Do you have any? The Tranquila Sensus…?”

“No, I didn’t think there was a reason to bring—”

“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his first into the bedpost.

“Draco, what’s wrong? Weren’t you just out celebrating?”

He scoffed. “Yes, with a hunt…a goddamn hunt…”

“You don’t mean—”

“Muggleborns.”

“Was there an urgent mission or something?”

He sighed. “You don’t understand. That _was_ the celebration.”

“Hunting them for sport?” she asked. Draco lurched as if about to vomit. He was usually out of sorts after fulfilling his more violent duties, but she hadn’t seen him this distressed in a long time. “Silas might have something.” She rang the bell that had been left in the room to call for service and urged Draco into the adjacent bathroom to clean himself up. She bade the servant who answered the call, the same one who had been staring maliciously at her and Draco throughout their stay, to ask for the Potion Master’s aid.

The woman returned not too long after with an almost wild look in her eye. Valeria gratefully took the vial from the woman’s hand and turned, but before she could take a step towards the bathroom, she felt a sharp, cold pain in the back of her shoulder. She cried out instinctively and spun around to find a bloody knife in the woman’s hand that must have been hidden up her sleeve. The servant lunged at Valera again before the latter could reach for her wand, but Valeria was knocked to the floor before she could react.

Draco had rushed out of the bathroom and shoved her aside to grab the woman by the throat in one hand and by the wrist with the other. Valeria held onto her shoulder, now shooting with pain, feeling her blood leak out onto her hand as Draco sharply twisted the servant’s wrist. The knife fell to the floor as the woman screamed, her hand and wrist now hanging limp. Draco threw the woman to the floor and put one foot on her chest to hold her down as he drew his wand.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked, his voice viciously low. Valeria trembled as she took a mental assessment of herself. She was bleeding, but not enough to justify serious worry. The blade didn’t puncture her deep enough to kill. She withdrew her wand and began to cast basic healing spells on herself to stop the bleeding and reduce the pain.

“I’m alright,” she said, her voice shaking.

Draco pointed his wand between the servant’s eyes and said, “ _Legilimens_.”

The reality of the attack was starting to sink in now that the rush of adrenaline was subsiding some. Valeria could not fathom why this random servant would attack her. She could understand the servant’s hatred, that was fair, but she had ensured her own execution, or worse, by doing this. Valeria could not see how that would have been worth it for the woman.

“Why’d she do it?” Valeria asked as Draco ceased reading the woman’s mind.

Draco sighed. “The story, about how I turned Potter over for you. She thinks he was their last hope and because of you, it was taken away. It was vengeance, pure and simple. You sure you’re alright?”

Valeria nodded, slowly getting to her feet. Her wound was sore, still throbbing, but it was closed. The servant was obviously not an experienced assassin and had done a poor job of trying to murder Valeria, but her sloppiness could be explained by how personal the crime was. Valeria went towards Draco, whose eyes were dark with vengeance, but his expression bore something resembling compassion.

“Was that all you saw?” she asked.

He shook his head. “She was sure that I saw what Sisask…does to them.” That explained Draco’s expression and hesitation in ending the woman’s life outright. He looked down to her. “I can’t save you, but I’ll give you a choice. You can die here and now, quickly and painlessly, or I will have to turn you over to Sisask.”

The woman made a whimpering sound as angry tears filled her eyes and Valeria surprised herself with how much sympathy she had for the woman who had just tried to kill her. With her functioning, she gestured to her head and Draco understood her request to communicate via the invasion of her mind once more.

“She wants us to do it here, since it’ll be worse if we hand her over to Sisask. She also wants us to keep the other servants out of it. She acted alone,” Draco told Valeria after reading the woman’s mind.

“Why should we do her any favors? She tried to kill me, Draco,” she said.

“I know, and that’s why she’s going to die,” he said, pinching the skin between his brow as he so often did when he was emotionally exhausted. “Please, Valeria, I know I might seem like I’m underreacting. I saw in her mind what they’ve done…I just want to end this, make sure you’re alright, and go home in the morning.”

“Fine,” Valeria said after a moment, relenting for Draco’s sake. The woman wasn’t worth making a grand show. Draco looked at Valeria.

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

Valeria looked at his exhausted face and brutalized expression. She wasn’t about to ask what he did tonight nor what he saw in the woman’s head. She doubted he would make it through the first few sentences if he tried. She removed her wand and aimed it at the woman under Draco’s heel. The poor thing looked at up her, desperate but still hateful. Unrepentant, but grateful for the finality Valeria was about to deliver. Both women knew, with a shocking casualness, that this was the way of the world.

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ”


	13. Unfortunate Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fix the errors soon! Just wanted to get this out quick.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Off-screen death. Magical violence. Discussion of death. Description/discussion of suicide. Discussion of violence. Mild discussion of rape/sexual assault. Violence against a house elf. Violence against a child (sort of.) Foul language.

**August 1994**

The sounds of rushing and screaming woke Valeria, fourteen years old. Still innocent. Still in the dark. One of the magical ear plugs Konstantin had given her fell out while she slept, allowing her to be woken by the chaos outside. She put her dressing gown over her sleepwear and grabbed her wand, just in case. Calling out for her parents and her brother yielded no response. Frightened and alone, she left the tent and ran away into the thickets to hide from whatever threat assaulted the campground now.

She cowered with her back against a tree, listening for any hint of what was going on, but through the shouting, she could not make out anything clear enough to understand. From the other side of the tree, a hand grabbed onto her shoulder. Valeria screamed and spun around, aiming her wand in the near dark.

“Val, it’s me.”

“Draco? What’re you—?”

“I was about to try to find you in your tent,” he said, stepping forward as she lowered her wand.

“My parents, Konstantin…I don’t know where they are—”

“They’re fine.”

“But someone’s attacking. We have to go!” she shouted in panic. Draco reached out and grabbed her shoulders, nodding upwards. She followed his lead and, in the sky, saw the Dark Mark looming in the night above them. She had been so panicked that she had missed it before.

“Death Eaters…?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said with an unimpressed drawl. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“What are you talking about!? We’re all in danger—”

Draco laughed. “Not us.”

“Are you mad?!”

“We’re pureblooded, Val, remember? They’re not after us. Just go back to your tent if you’re so scared—” he said, rolling his eyes and turning away, but she grabbed his sleeve before he could step forward.

“Please don’t go.”

He looked at her curiously. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” He took a step toward her again. “Alright, I’ll stay if it makes you feel better.”

“Stay until it’s over?”

“Yes, I’ll stay until it’s over. Promise.”

**April 2003**

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy,_

_I write to you regarding the atrocity you experienced as a result of one of my servants as guests in my home. Please accept this further apology, though I have made strides to make amends. I thank you both for your discretion and undeserved graciousness in this matter. I can of no finer people and no better allies. I am delighted to inform you that the rest of the wandless servants at my home have been executed as well in order to quell any possible further rebellion and to begin anew. I am looking forward to the future work our two great governments shall accomplish together._

_Sincerely,_

_Minister R. Sisask_

Valeria rolled her eyes and handed the letter back to Draco. “So killing her then and there was for nothing? The whole was point was to avoid getting the others in trouble.”

“It wasn’t our call,” Draco said. “The woman sealed her fate as soon as she lifted that knife to you. There is a silver lining, though. The Dark Lord is happy that it happened, seeing as now Sisask is going to be too terrified to ever dream of crossing me or him. He is completely in our control and our hold in Eastern Europe is even stronger.”

Valeria gathered her things off her desk with a beleaguered sigh. “Congratulations. I am so very happy for you. And you’re very welcome to once again be the damsel in distress for your political gain.”

“That hurts, but I suppose it’s fair,” Draco began. “Where are you off to?”

“I still have to see Boot, remember?”

“Sorry, your near murder made me forget about Terry bloody Boot,” Draco said. “I still would prefer if you had an escort.”

“He has a Trace on him and I’m just as capable with magic as you. I’ll be fine. I might go to Wales before I return here, put that cloak you hate so much back in its trunk,” she said. He nodded in approval. Despite its usefulness, Draco hated Potter’s invisibility cloak and didn’t want it at Malfoy Manor any longer than it had to be, figuring he could always fetch it if he needed. He had gotten less strict with her confinement since their return from Estonia and while Valeria was enjoying having some freedom of movement back, she was careful to be very clear about her plans so as not to risk pushing his limits again. Before she reached the door of the study, a great low bell rang throughout the Manor, signaling the arrival of a guest who must have been allowed to pass through the magical gate. “Were you expecting someone?”

“No. I’ll walk you out, see who it is,” Draco said. Opening the great doors of the Manor’s entrance, Valeria was surprised to see Daphne, still in her Healer garb, standing in the doorway looking more unwashed and exhausted than she had ever seen.

“Daphne, are you alright?” Valeria asked urgently, shoving her things into Draco’s arms and ushering her friend inside.

“I’m fine. I just, I’m sorry to drop in like this, but I didn’t want to send an owl…”

“About what?” Valeria asked.

“Actually, I’m really only supposed to share with Malfoy—erm—Draco, I mean,” Daphne said. Valeria was a little surprised, but not offended. She often preferred not knowing the gruesome details of Daphne’s work anyway, especially if Draco needed to know about it. No good could come of that, given the nature of Draco’s own duties.

“Right, I understand,” Valeria said taking her things back from Draco. “If you have any updates for me or want anything, let me know.”

Daphne nodded and Valeria left the Manor. Draco turned to Daphne once the doors were shut and Valeria was likely a safe enough distance away not to barge back in unexpectedly.

“What’s happened?” he asked. Daphne’s breath hitched as she shut her eyes, as if in pain.

“He didn’t make it…”

“Who?”

Daphne looked at him like he was half-mad. “The boy. The werewolf’s son. He died this morning.”

“Shit,” Draco said with a sigh. He knew the truth that Daphne didn’t. The Lupin boy was not dead, as far as he knew, but his mother, Draco’s own cousin, disguised as her son now was. He knew it would come eventually, at least he figured it would, but he had not been expecting it so soon and his exploits in Estonia had distracted him from the matter almost entirely. “Where does that leave us?”

“Without any other werewolf-human hybrids running around that we know of, we’re still banking on Valeria’s work. Tests are improving, but not quite the results we need,” Daphne said solemnly. Her face was pale and grave. Draco felt a tinge of guilt, not for Nymphadora, but for Daphne believing she had essentially murdered a child. He grieved he could do nothing to assuage her guilt by telling her the truth.

“Thanks to you and your team for trying. The boy has been dealt with?”

“An unmarked grave at the hospital,” she said softly. Draco nodded. There was no point informing the actual boy, or his caretakers, that Nymphadora was dead. Surely, they would have guessed it by now anyway. The details of how and when didn’t matter and it wasn’t worth the risk of getting the truth to them. Draco put a friendly hand on Daphne’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry you were assigned to it. You were only doing your job,” he said quietly.

“Does it help you to think that about yourself?” she asked quietly, and honestly, not trying to attack him.

“Sometimes. Not always,” he said. He reached into his pocket and gave her a small vial. “Valeria makes these for me, Tranquila Sensus. It will help you feel things less.” Ever since coming back from Estonia, Draco asked Valeria to keep him well stocked with the potion so that he could carry one on him at all times, in case he was ever again called to suddenly commit atrocities. Daphne was hesitant, but she took it from him and gulped it down. She breathed through the chill that ran down her spine and handed the empty vial to Draco.

She left without much more speech and Draco went to write a letter to Blaise, informing him to take time away from his own work to care for his wife.

Meanwhile, the Boot residence in a small northern town seemed nearly abandoned. Though not in disrepair, the home had an eerie energy about it that made her nervous. Still, it was all she could do to push her reservations down and knock on the door. Slowly, as if hesitating, the door creaked opened and out peaked the head of Terry Boot. His light brown hair had patches of gray sown throughout and his eyes were sunken a bit. He was gaunt and thin, sickly looking. Azkaban had surely ravaged him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said through his teeth, disgusted.

“I’m here on business on behalf of the Department of Purity—” she started. Terry quickly began shutting the door in her face, but she drew her wand and wordlessly stopped it from shutting. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This will only take a few minutes if you prove cooperative.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?”

“You don’t want to go there, Terry.”

Reluctantly, his face contorting in disgusted defeat, he stepped back from the door and let her pass through. She followed him to the living room and sat across from him on an old sofa. The entire place looked only half-lived in, with dust everywhere and hardly a single light on.

“You live here alone?”

“I got my parents out of the country before everything went to shit. It’s just me.”

“Are they well?”

He huffed. “Can’t say. I forged a notice telling them I was dead so they wouldn’t come back looking for me. Haven’t heard from them. You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“The small talk bullshit. Just tell me what you want.”

Obliging, Valeria placed the paperwork on the table before him. “Normally this would be a bit more formal, but given the conditions of your release, and your status as a known blood traitor, this is going to work a little differently. You have been approved by the Department of Purity to marry Miss Luna Lovegood. Once you sign this, your wedding will be scheduled. You’ll be informed of the date via owl post. The rest of this paperwork is for your records and information about what’s expected of you and—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Valeria?”

“You should take better care to mind your manners, Boot,” she warned.

“Why? Is your lunatic terrorist husband going to come get me?”

“I wouldn’t waste his time on you. Another Azkaban should suffice.”

He paled at the suggestion. “I don’t think talking rudely to you is against any law—”

“No, but plenty of things are. Who will they believe?”

He sneered and clenched his jaw. He hastily looked through the other paperwork. “Why Luna?”

“That was my doing, you’re welcome. You could have done much worse since no one really cares who blood traitors end up with so long as purity is prioritized.”

“You did this for my sake? Some gift…” he said sarcastically.

“No. I did it for Lovegood.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to question my judgement.”

“It’s my marriage, right? Don’t I have a right to know?”

Valeria wavered. “I killed her father and wanted to make sure she’d at least be tied to someone who wasn’t—”

“Who wasn’t like Malfoy?”

“Draco has nothing to do with this.”

“He has everything to do with it since it’s his fucking fault the world is like this in the first place.”

“The Dark Lord was victorious anyway, Draco just ensured it a bit faster. I’d be very careful with your next words. I’m not an Occlumens.”

Boot did relent. “So you’re just guilty then. Why’d you kill her dad?”

“Mercy.”

“Yes, because that’s what comes to mind when I think of you, as much as I try to avoid it.”

She stood. “Just sign the damn papers and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He took the quill in hand and was about to sign when he stopped. After a moment he looked up at her. “I try not to think about you because then I wonder, if I hadn’t broken it off with you…maybe you wouldn’t have run to Malfoy right away. You’d have stayed on our side.”

“Are you still hung up on that? It was a few months of fifth year, and I was never on your side,” she said defiantly.

“Maybe not then, but you weren’t _this_ either. You were different, that’s why I liked you in the first place, as much as it makes me sick now. You were the nice Slytherin, remember?”

“What does it matter? You hate me anyway.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still feel sorry for you, for all of us. The Valeria I liked back then did what she wanted, her way. Now you’re here doing this marriage shit, for what? To do to everyone else what was done to you—”

“It’s not that simple. I have always been this. I would never have betrayed who I was and I wouldn’t have survived if I did.”

“Was it worth surviving? Being Malfoy’s wife, doing what you’re told? Foisting your misery on the rest of us?”

“Draco and my pureblood are the only reasons I wasn’t cut down like a rabid dog.”

“You’re still loyal to him, aren’t you? Winters, he’s a murderer. You didn’t see what he did at Hogwarts. I’ve heard stories, how he had no emotion when he burned Godric’s Hollow black or how he killed his own cousin and handed her son over—”

“You need to stop suffering under the delusion that I’m somehow better than he is. _I’m_ the one who makes sure he doesn’t suffer through the emotions of what he does when he does it so that can do his duty! I’m the one who has to deal with the aftermath. You know just as well as I do that I have sins of my own so if you would just sign the fucking document—”

“Is there nothing he can do to make you hate him?”

“There isn’t,” she said.

“You really think you’ve done things just as bad as him? Like what?”

She swallowed. When she blinked, she saw Pansy hanging from that chandelier. “I’m the reason Pansy’s dead.”

“Parkinson? She was always a bitch—”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought she killed herself.”

“She did. She was supposed to marry someone else. I didn’t fight for her when that changed. She found out she was expecting a girl. That’s when she killed herself.”

Boot took a moment. “So that’s why you’re doing this for Luna.”

“Satisfied?”

Boot hastily signed his name on the document and handed it back to Valeria after blowing it dry. “I’ll do it for Luna too.”

Being back in Wales as night began to fall was no respite, despite how much she secretly longed for the comforting sense of home she once had in the Winters castle. But now, its empty halls, the grandness of a once prestigious bloodline haunted her. She spent more time than she needed to there tonight. She put Potter’s invisibility cloak away and looked through the other items Draco and her had preserved of Potter. She turned a vial of ashes, Potter’s ashes, in hand. The winds blowing through open doors and broken windows in the Great Hall of Hogwarts had scattered his remains. This was likely all that was left of him that anyone could hold. She shoved it back inside before her mind went too far to the dark reaches. She kept it from morbid curiosity, she told herself, but it was more likely the guilt of lost hope that motivated her.

The golden snitch with the cryptic message. She had forgotten about it, having given up on figuring out how to open it after all this time. Draco wouldn’t want it around, but he wouldn’t chide her too much for hanging onto it to examine. She tucked it away in her robes before shutting the trunk in which the last physical mementos of Harry Potter’s existence were stored. She looked through other old things in that secret storage room. So much of it belonged to her father and his ancestors, she was hesitant to touch them for fear of what they might do. She was not prepared to contend with her family’s dark history today, knowing she must have been the darkest generation of all.

There were things of hers. That goddamn set of fine china she and Draco had been given as a wedding gift. They had never gotten around to using it. There were photographs of her and Draco from their wedding in their too and she almost felt nostalgic for that day, as awful as it was. They were younger, more naïve, and she missed having that luxury. They looked so miserable in those photos, but there was a sense of innocence within their likenesses that had been strangled out of them now.

She found her Yule Ball robes, beautiful and deep purple, timeless and free flowing. She buried her scarred face in them now, swearing she could still smell her perfume from that night, even the musk that had rubbed off from Draco as they danced. He would smile shyly as he lifted her while they danced that night. They had never been so happy again. She shoved the robes away again rather than contend with the realization that she had not been happy since she was fourteen years old.

Digging around, she found the Magical Theory she had worked with Luna Lovegood to create during her seventh year. She had nearly forgotten all about it and its ability to preserve voices within the little box. She tucked it away in her robes, figuring perhaps it would be a useful trinket to have around.

The conversation with Boot was getting to her. She could not reconcile who she was and what she had become as she entered the courtyard in the center of the Winters estate, surrounded by high walls on all four sides, open to the mountain sky, filled now with stars. The lilac tree was in bloom, as it always was and under it, the lonely headstone of her beloved brother.

_Here Lies_

_Konstantin Silvester Winters_

_16 April 1973 — 18 June 1996_

_Cherished Son, No Better Friend_

_Hopeful Brother_

_“Quocumque Modo”_

She tried very hard, standing above her brother’s grave, to not feel sorry for herself. For it was Konstantin who had died in vain. His little portrait welded to his tombstone was stern and serious, but she remembered him laughing. He was always smiling. He too had that cheeky little smirk that she too always wore. Her classmates fawned over him and even Draco admitted he had wanted to be just like Konstantin. Who didn’t want to be the handsome, intelligent, extraordinarily wealthy and equally charming Quidditch star with the world at his feet?

But he chose to die for her instead, at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange. The waste offended Valeria. Surely, were he able, he’d regret his sacrifice. What kind of life had he tried to save in the end? A murderer. A creator of pain and misery, if not death. Someone whose sick fantasies of elaborately murdering Bellatrix Lestrange lulled her into a peaceful sleep. He had saved someone who now only had love for the man who personally delivered the last hope the world had to his doom. And, without guilt, she loved every broken, jagged piece of Draco no matter how deeply they cut her. She felt guilty about her guiltlessness.

Her brother’s life, one much better than hers, wasted. He would hate her now, she knew, and Konstantin would surely murder Draco if he were able. Now, she felt nothing but emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole from the inside out. It should have been her who laid rotting six feet under and Konstantin who stood in the moonlight to spit on her on her memory. That was worthy of her.

As tears welled her eyes and threatened to fall, her breath becoming more labored and her heart feeling like it was strangling itself, a great clatter from within the castle made her jump and brought her focus back clear.

She quickly and deftly drew her wand, casting a spell quickly to muffle her steps into silence. She made haste towards the door back inside and followed the sound of frantic yelling, more than one voice. She was terrified in her perplexity. The Winters estate was notorious for being one of the most secure buildings in Britain. No one got in without an invitation and the only people alive to issue one were Odessa, Draco and herself. The voices sounded vaguely familiar as she drew nearer, but not clear enough to place. One was screaming in pain, drowning out the other’s, a woman’s, pleas for calm.

“DO SOMETHING!”

“Stop struggling! I’m trying!”

Valeria’s heart pounded so hard it was starting to hurt. Letting her strides carry her, she swiftly emerged from the doorway and into the grand hall of the castle, just before the staircase, her wand aimed with a sure hand at where the voices originated.

She nearly dropped her wand.

Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley. Older, grimy, dirty but still plainly, unmistakably them. Their faces paled white as snow when they saw her. Ron stopped screaming and Valeria barely noticed the blood spurting out of his leg.

“Shit,” he said.

A fierce duel broke out between the two women. Hermione was a competent duelist, but was on the defensive, taken aback by Valeria’s sudden entrance. The ward on Valeria’s wrist that she never took off helped protect her from Hermione’s attacks. Granger was also noticeably exhausted, her spells much easier to deflect. Valeria had practiced dark magic with Draco nearly daily over the years, before their months-long argument, for just this reason.

After a few rounds, Ron helplessly shouting all the while, Valeria disarmed Hermione, confiscating her wand. Hermione put her hands up.

“STOP! STOP! WE YIELD!”

Valeria disarmed Ron as well, who had not tried to help for fear of accidentally hitting Hermione in his injured state. Valeria marched to Hermione and grabbed her by the hair hard. Ron stayed helpless on the floor, shouting Hermione’s name.

“How the hell did you get in here?!” Valeria shouted, dragging Hermione away from Ron.

“YOU INVITED US!” Ron cried. “LET HER GO!”

“My bag, Valeria. It’s in my bag!” Hermione said. Valeria quickly summoned the bag, clumsily opened it and summoned the invitation with a wordless incantation. An old piece of parchment flew into her hand and she read it. Panic began to sink in. It was most certainly her handwriting. There was no mistake she herself had penned it. Panic only made Valeria more dangerous.

“How did you get this from me? Did you use the Imperius Curse?!”

“What? No! It was your idea,” Hermione said. Valeria hexed Hermione with a curse that sent a painful electric shock through the latter’s body.

“Hermione!” Ron cried.

“There is no way in hell I did this voluntarily. TILLY!” The meek house elf appeared with a pop into the room. “How long have they been coming here?”

“Madam Malfoy—"

“ANSWER ME!”

“They were guests of the Winters…Tilly is compelled to treat the guests of the Winters as if they were their own kin—" Tilly began, trembling with fear. Valeria struck the elf with the same shocking curse and Tilly fell to the floor with a cry.

“Do you understand what you’ve done!?” Valeria screamed. “If anyone finds out about this, we’re all dead! Do you know what they do to house-elves now, Tilly?! You’ve been one of the lucky ones so far!

“S—Sorry! Tilly did not know—”

Valeria punished Tilly with the same curse once more.

“STOP! SHE WAS ONLY DOING AS SHE WAS TOLD!” Hermione screamed; Valeria’s hand still entailed in her hair. Valeria relented, breathing fast, she turned back to Tilly.

“I’ll decide what to do with you later,” she said through her teeth.

“Hermione…” Ron said weakly, looking faint.

“Valeria, please. He’s bleeding out. Let me save him and I’ll give you anything you want—”

Valeria laughed. “You two are going to die no matter what I do. I just need to figure out how to get out of this…”

“Valeria! I—I can tell you things, secrets! We can talk this—”

“I’ll be lucky if I get out of this alive. Seeing as I don’t remember issuing that invitation, the Imperius Curse is most likely—”

“JUST LET ME HEAL RON AND I’LL EXPLAIN—"

“Shut up!” Valeria shouted, holding Hermione’s tangled mess of hair harder. “Tilly, keep him alive.”

Tilly immediately got to work mending Ron’s leg, a result of splinching no doubt, while Valeria tossed Hermione to ground, rooting her to the floor magically so she was sitting up and could talk, but could not move otherwise. Tilly managed to heal Ron enough for him to remain conscious and Valeria swiftly immobilized Ron as well. Valeria’s chest rose and fell to the rhythm of her racing heart as she searched her mind for what to do. Ron and Hermione were supposed to be dead. This was out of her hands.

“Tilly, once you finish, go to Malfoy Manor and tell Draco—”

“No!” Hermione shouted. “Valeria, please. Let’s talk first. Please,” Hermione looked at Valeria as if she was studying her, which made Valeria quite uneasy.

“Fine. But if I suspect for even a moment that either of you are lying, I’ll call him.”

“Let him come. I’ve been itching to kill him—” Ron said.

“You don’t want me to do that. I’ve seen him interrogate traitors before. Did quite the number on your sister, Weasley,” Valeria mocked, sending Ron into a red-faced rage as he struggled against his magical bindings.

“What did he do to her?! What did Ginny do—”

“Quiet down, she’s fine, it was little more than a blackened eye. We needed to talk to her about…” Valeria dropped off as she remembered the vanishing cabinet, the basilisk fangs, the only people who knew about it being dead or missing, the man and woman at Borgin and Burke’s. She lifted her head, wide eyed and coldblooded as she realized. “It was you.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“You’re the ones who escaped the battle through the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things…”

“No shit, you’re the one who—” Ron began, but Hermione shushed him. Fortunately, Valeria’s mind was too scattered to notice Hermione’s silencing, rummaging through Hermione’s little handbag.

“Where are the basilisk fangs?” Valeria asked, but neither answered. “Tilly, call Draco.”

“No!” Hermione shouted before Tilly could vanish. “They’re gone. We’ve been all over, we had nothing. We needed to survive…We had to sell them.”

Valeria searched Hermione’s face for the hint of a lie but found none. “Shit!”

“Why do you want them?” Ron asked.

“I’m asking questions here, Weasley,” Valeria spat. “I see you’ve gotten no smarter. Basilisk fangs are powerful dark artifacts. There’s nearly infinite things I could use them for.” She paused. Her search for the fangs was not the priority now. “How did you get here? Why come here of all places?”

Hermione swallowed. “We just got back to Britain. We needed a safehouse. We tried Shell Cottage, but it was a trap. It was rigged with an alarm. I told Ron it was too far to apparate, that it was too dangerous to come here again, but—”

“How could I have known that she’d—?!”

“Quiet!” Valeria shouted. It had been Nott’s idea to outfit known safehouses of the now decimated Order of the Phoenix with alarms that would call only the highest-ranking marked Death Eaters to the spot. That meant, that in all likelihood, Draco was at Shell Cottage and not Malfoy Manor. But Ron and Hermione did not need to know that. “How long have you been coming here?”

“We haven’t been here in years. We just got back to Britain, remember?” Ron said with a scoff.

“We bounced around from place to place, coming here only once in a while when we needed surer shelter. But then it got too dangerous to stay in the country at all. We’ve been on the continent mostly. We came back because it’s getting dangerous everywhere else too and we want to see who we can still help here,” Hermione said. Valeria believed Hermione, but the explanation did not solve Valeria’s current problem. Valeria used her wand to burn the invitation in her hand to ash, thereby permanently rescinding it, and Hermione’s face fell.

“What are you planning on doing with us?” Hermione asked quietly.

“I have to turn you in. I haven’t got a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” Ron yelled.

“I don’t! It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught. Turning you over peacefully will give you a better shot than—”

“If you call Malfoy, you will sign our death warrants,” Ron said.

“That’s not my call. It’s not my place—”

“Since when did _you_ care about your _place_?” Hermione cried out.

“Since I had to in order to survive!”

“Valeria, listen. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this. You’re not some murderous monster—”

“You have no idea who I am anymore, Granger. Even if I wanted to help you, there’s no way I could keep this secret forever. Draco, Snape, the Dark Lord are all more than capable with Legilimency. When you do eventually get caught, your minds will likely be read as well. They’ll discover the truth. Then I’ll be executed. Draco will be executed. I cannot allow that.”

“You’re still care about him?! He ruined your fucking life!” Ron said desperately.

“No, you did!” Valeria cried out in frustration. Every time something went wrong from her fifth year of school onwards, it could always be traced back to Potter and his friends. Draco had saved her, trying to rectify their mistake by earning a pardon for her. At least, she needed to believe that now in order to have the strength to do what had to be done. “Tilly, find Draco—”

“Wait!” Hermione shouted before Tilly could vanish once again. “If you let us go, we can tell you how to get basilisk fangs.”

“Hermione—!” Ron said.

Valeria laughed. “And what leverage do you have? How do I know you’ll tell the truth? How do you know I won’t hand you in as soon as you tell me?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I guess we’re going to have to trust each other.”

“No,” Valeria said, a plan formulating in her mind. She needed those fangs. The Dark Lord would expect results soon and she searched her heart of hearts and found that she truly did not want to be the reason Ron and Hermione died tonight. “This is how it will go. You will tell me what I need to know, if I find out you lied or misled me in any way, I will kill Ginny and your mum.”

“You cunt!”

“Ron—!”

“It’s the only way to make sure you’ll tell the truth. Afterwards, I will give you a head start. I will have to tell Draco. That’s the best I can do. The choice is yours.” Valeria was happy to put the decision on Granger so at least if they chose to die tonight, she could feel somewhat absolved. At least, she could potentially delude herself into thinking so.

Hermione slowly nodded. “Alright.”

“Hermione, NO!” Ron bellowed.

“Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets. The basilisk is a skeleton down there and we did not take all the fangs it had. The entrance is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. You need to speak Parseltongue to get in there…Ron, tell her.”

“Hermione…”

“It’s our only chance, Ron. Do it!”

Ron looked at Valeria with searing hatred, but she was unmoved. She had seen that stare countless times in countless other faces.

“Listen carefully…” he began quietly in defeat. Valeria stopped him and took the box from her old seventh year school project and held her wand to his throat. “What’re you—?”

“Just talk.”

Ron let out a strange hissing sound, which meant nothing to Valeria and when he finished, his voice, magically preserved in waves of magical light, floated by the tip of her wand. Carefully, she placed the voice in the box and shut it, preserving Ron’s words. She stored it away in her robes and lifted the hood of her cloak before releasing Ron and Hermione’s legs, letting Tilly assist them to stand. Holding onto their wands, she led them out of the castle, across the bridge over the lake and onto the shore.

“Once I go, you’ll be free, but you will never be able to find this place again,” Valeria said.

“I feel like we should thank you, but—”

“Don’t bother. I’m certainly not grateful to have found you. Do what you can with what’s left of your lives. It’s practically impossible to get out of Britain now, at least magically. I doubt you’ll be able to make it much longer,” Valeria said.

“I guess this is goodbye then, according to you,” Ron said.

“So it would seem,” Valeria began. “I’ll be telling Draco everything the second I see him. I suggest you run.”

She tossed their wands to them and apparated away without another word. Arriving home was surreal, she almost didn’t believe what had just happened wasn’t some horrible dream. She quickly stowed away the snitch and the box containing Ron’s voice in her chambers and waited for Draco to return. Unable to find calm, jumping at the smallest of sounds, she paced around with a glass of wine in hand, trying to remain calm.

Draco was going to be angry, she knew. She could live with that, but not with the uncertainty that perhaps she had made a critical error in letting Hermione and Ron escape. All she did was buy them some more time in the end, but was it worth the risk she had brought upon herself? She did not yet want to admit the truth to herself; She didn’t want them to die.

The pop of Draco’s arrival startled her to the point she nearly dropped her wine. He had a surly expression and he smelled like smoke.

“I’m going to kill Crabbe someday!” he said in frustration as he saw her. She opened her mouth to speak, cursing her luck that he was in such a foul mood. “One of Nott’s alarms went off, we arrive, and who’s arrived but Crabbe first. I gave Nott a fucking earful for letting Crabbe in on the charm that allows the alarms to alert us in the first place. Whoever was there already escaped, and Crabbe gets the _ingenious_ idea to burn the place to the ground with goddamn _Fiendfyre_ , ‘just in case.’ The fucking moron—”

“Draco,” Valeria said, trying to be brave. He was removing his gear as he ranted.

“The whole point of a bloody trap is that it’s there to lure them in! Now we’re short one guaranteed safehouse—”

“Draco…”

“Crabbe’s been becoming a loose cannon since Goyle. He should consider himself goddamn lucky that Snape was there to hold me back because I was about to rip him apart then and there!”

“Draco!”

He stopped and really looked at her, face dropping upon seeing the severity of expression. He went to her and put his hands on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I…”

“What’s happened?”

“We have a problem.”


	14. Hogwarts Revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fix the errors soon, promise. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Language. Child abuse. Discussion of death. Discussion of torture.

**September 1999**

Ron knew how important this was to Hermione. That’s the only reason Ron agreed to this excursion before they left Britain.

The past year had been the hardest they had ever endured. Ron had been broken by the Horcrux hunt, but nothing compared to do this. Harry was gone, truly gone. The faint hope that Ron had held, that like them maybe Harry had somehow gotten out alive, had grown more futile with each passing day. He and Hermione had been surviving by renting lodgings in Muggle towns, always ready to flee, fearing using the simplest of spells of spells for fear of a Trace being placed at any moment. They moved frequently and had lived the best they could as borderline Muggles, using Hermione’s Muggle savings to survive.

But the funds were low, and the walls were inching closer in. The many plots they formed all for nothing. There was no way to get close enough to Nagini to kill the snake and save the world. They could not risk reaching out to their old comrades who were still alive. As much as Ron loved his friends, he could not trust them not to turn Hermione and him over in exchange for their own lives. Ron could say that he would blame them either.

And so, when they decided to leave Britain, try to gather support or aid from the continent, Hermione wanted to make a few stops before they departed. It had broken Ron’s heart to watch her crumble. Her fabulous intellect, the way she could think her way out of most anything, had failed her and it crushed her to accept it. She needed to do this. She needed to remember what she was still alive for. They had been visiting the graves of various Muggleborns who had died at the hands of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Ted Tonks. Mary Cattermole. Justin Finch-Fletchey. But this one stumped Ron.

**JANE ELEANOR MASTERS**

**BELOVED DAUGHTER**

**A WOMAN OF MANY TALENTS**

**14 DECEMBER 1972—1997**

“ _A woman of many talents. That’s rich,”_ Ron thought while Hermione placed a bouquet of random weeds and wildflowers she had taken from the edges of the cemetery. A woman of many talents. She was a witch, an excellent one by all accounts, and she would fade into obscurity, lost to both the Muggle and the wizarding world. That hurt Hermione most of all, he knew. She didn’t have to say it. Her ambitions crumbling into nothing, forgotten by the worlds she loved and lived in.

“It’s strange how one person can change so much,” Hermione mused quietly.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. He didn’t understand why Hermione was so attached to this grave, having never spoken to Jane Masters in her life.

“It was her, remember? It was because of her that Konstantin Winters had his change of heart. Like he said in his letter to Valeria…” Hermione recalled. Ron remembered well and bitterly the night Valeria Winters, when she was still called Winters but not for much longer, had tearfully read her own brother’s final letter to the Order of the Phoenix and committed to joining their cause in his honor, in his place. Ron found the story odd. It was rare for someone of Konstantin’s standing to risk so much for love. His eldest brothers told him all about Konstantin, who was well-liked by everyone in school, despite being in Slytherin and even despite ensuring Slytherin’s Quidditch victories for nearly the entirety of his Hogwarts career. Even Ron looked up a little bit to Konstantin, and his prodigious Quiddtich skills. After all, what awkward boy didn’t want to be the tall, handsome, wealthy and intelligent guy the girls fawned over and had it made?

But Konstantin’s short life was sadder than it had ever appeared to anyone else. That was the Winters’ way, of course; Revealing nothing to anyone. Konstantin’s letter to Valeria had read more like a confession than a last will and testament. Hermione especially had been moved by the story of the prodigious heir to a storied pureblood family falling in love with a Muggleborn girl and how that girl, the one who now lay six feet under, had caused him to doubt everything. But not enough to abandon his sister, though his efforts were for naught and he died trying to protect her.

A simple schoolyard romance had brought the Winters from prestige to tragedy right under their very noses.

“Hello…?”

Hermione and Ron turned in shock and horror, fearing being recognized only to see a woman, a bit older than Molly Weasley surely, shyly approaching them.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude…Excuse us,” Hermione said with a nervous stutter, but the woman boldly stepped forward to stop them from leaving.

“Did you…Did you know her? Are you from…That world?” the woman asked, quietly, desperately. Ron was about to deny everything on instinctual impulse, but Hermione spoke first.

“Yes, we are, but we didn’t know her personally,” Hermione answered, and Ron felt cold fear run down his spine at Hermione’s brazen reveal. The woman dug through her bag, fumbling with her wallet before removing two photographs and shoving one into Hermione’s hand. Ron looked over her shoulder to see pictured a young woman, in her early twenties most likely with straight brown hair and a plain face, in a hospital gown looking spent and exhausted, but smiling lovingly down at the newborn in her arms. Hermione flipped over the photograph to read the hastily written words, _Don’t try to find him_.

“Please…I know my daughter’s gone,” the woman said, choking back tears. “But her son…I just need to know if my grandson is alive. He might be with his father. J—Jane had a boyfriend in school called Winters. She didn’t say much about him, but I know that she was in love with him. He’s the only person I can think of that could be…” The woman shoved another picture into Hermione’s hand. This one moved, it was older, more wrinkled and faded. Jane was pictured, younger and in her school uniform standing beside a tall, strikingly handsome young man of the same age, doubtlessly Konstantin Winters. “Do you know how I can find him—?”

“He’s dead,” Ron said bluntly. “And you shouldn’t have this. It’s dangerous for you to know to much about our world right now and—”

“Your world killed my daughter and stole my grandson,” the woman said. “All I want is that last piece of my daughter left in this world.”

“We can try,” Hermione said.

Ron turned sharply to her. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am, but there it is probably for the best that no one knows where the kid is. And we don’t have time! We can’t afford to—”

“You have my word, Mrs. Masters. We’ll do all we can.”

Ron was seething, trapped inside Grimmauld Place, abandoned even by Kreacher, as Hermione tirelessly went through old copies of _The Daily Prophet_ through the years, studying the birth announcements. He told her she wasn’t going to find anything; If Jane didn’t want her own parents to find her child, why would she print an announcement in the paper. Hermione and Ron had been arguing over it for at least a week. Their plans set back, their lingering grew more dangerous with each passing hour.

“Why do you care so much about this?” Ron asked pigheadedly.

“Maybe if we can find him…we can tell Valeria and—”

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?!”

“Because then we can use the knowledge of him and where he is to ask for her help—”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind!? Why would she do anything for us!?”

“Because we’d be dead three times over without her!” Hermione yelled. She was desperate, Ron knew, and not entirely Ron. It was Valeria who had bought them time to escape at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Who had been merciful at Hogwarts to their friends when she could, though Ron never thought it was enough. Who had given herself over in Hogsmeade and who in the eleventh hour forced them to escape via the vanishing cabinet. Ron had never forgiven Valeria for that, even if she saved their lives. If she hadn’t, maybe he could have done something…

“So you want to use the kid as a bloody bargaining chip? You don’t even want to tell Jane’s mum—”

“I know it’s wrong, I do. But we need all the help we can get. With this, at least she might have a reason to—” she said.

“And then what? Do you want this kid to be raised by the _Malfoys_? To have Draco for a father? You know what he’s done. You know how many people he’s killed! And what if they decide that he’s the half-blood bastard of a pureblood who fell in love with a Muggle—”

“She wasn’t a Muggle!”

“They don’t see it that way!”

“I have to do something, Ron!” Hermione cried out. “You remember what Valeria said all that time; That she was loyal to her own. This kid is her nephew and I still believe that she’d do anything to protect…” she trailed off when her eyes landed on something in the paper. “Ron, look at this.”

_JM announced the birth of her son, KSW II on 9 May 1996._

_Wandsworth Town_

“You think this is it?” he asked.

“The initials and the date match up. She was probably trying to send a message to Konstantin without contacting him directly. Come on, we have to go.”

“Where?” Ron asked as Hermione gathered her things.

“A library of course.”

Ron sat with Hermione, keeping an eye for danger constantly as he sat with Hermione for hours on end in a London library at some machine he didn’t understand that apparently showed old newspaper articles. It was getting late in the afternoon when Hermione finally grabbed his attention. The screen showed a newspaper article picturing a couple holding a young baby with a head full of dark brown hair.

_Samuel and Elizabeth Thomlinson welcomed a new addition in their family in the form of adopting their son who had been surrendered anonymously by the birth mother. The Thomlinsons have named their son William, after Elizabeth’s grandfather. They are enamored with their bundle of joy and grateful to provide a better life for this young boy._

“He’d be about the right age…” Hermione said.

“You couldn’t expect them to keep the name Konstantin Winters II. I bet if there’s still records in the magical world, the name is still the same…” Hermione said, thinking aloud almost. Ron tried to stop her, but she began going through records, digging through phone and address books for the Thomlinsons.

It was a chilly night in early autumn when they arrived at a finely designed London house in Wandsworth Town. Ron didn’t know much about Muggle culture, but he could tell these people had wealth. A vine-like lilac tree surrounded the front door that would have been in bloom in a different season. Using a couple disguising charms, Ron followed Hermione to the window of the first floor on the side of the house so as not to be seen spying from the street. The curtains were drawn but there was enough of a crack for them to peer through.

The interior of the home was clean, bright and stylishly decorated. Inside a little boy, perhaps three or so years old, with a thick head of dark brown hair and dark eyes ran around the spacious living room with a small, plastic airplane in hand. He zoomed about guiding the airplane to speed through the air in loops and dips with his hand. When a woman, Elizabeth Thomlinson from the article, entered the room, the boy ran to into her arms and she spun him round. He looked toward the window and saw the boy’s smile which resembled a cheeky little smirk. Valeria always smiled like that, as did her brother from what little Ron remembered of seeing him; the same smirk from the picture Jane’s mother had shown them.

There was no doubt in Ron’s normally skeptical mind. This was the son of Konstantin Winters. The son of a Death Eater and Muggleborn who hadn’t the faintest idea what magic was or who his parents really were. Ron was once more impressed with Hermione’s research skill and her determination in proving herself right. Before he could whisper to her about what they had discovered, Hermione was already walking off and he had to jog to catch up to her.

“What’s wrong? You found him—”

“He’s happy,” she said quietly, with tears in her eyes. “Sometimes I wish that McGonagall had never come to my house when I was eleven. That she never told me I was a witch and that I never went to Hogwarts. Maybe…Maybe I’d be at university, working to be a doctor or a lawyer or some kind of scholar. Maybe I would have been happy.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, but sometimes I think I do, and that scares me,” she said before pausing. “It’s for the best that he doesn’t know and that he stays William Thomlinson.”

**April 2003**

Draco stood before her in the center of the spacious bedroom, one arm folded over his midsection, the other held to his chin, staring ahead of him at the floor while Valeria sat on the long, velvet bench at the foot of the bed. She had told him everything with shaking breath, wringing her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. She did not fear him, rather she feared the inevitable consequences of her actions, many of which were outside of either of their control. Though, she could certainly see why he was feared.

To think the schoolyard bully, just another child in a sea of many, who cared more about boasting than he did about fighting, would be come this. He was tall and lean, all in black still with an expression that revealed nothing, but eyes that saw right through her. The dancing shadows around the room from the fire and lantern light made his pointed features even more dramatic. He was dangerous, he was alluring, he was strong, and she needed him now.

Tentatively she stood and he did not move as she slowly stepped toward him. She snaked her arms around him and buried her face in chest. She could hear his heart pounding beneath his bones, though it was not racing like hers. He took her gently in his arms too, silently, resting his head atop hers. The gesture brought her to tears.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” she mumbled as she wept. She needed him now and any anger remaining within her vanished at his touch. “Will you say something please?”

“It’s going to be alright. We’ll handle this,” Draco whispered. She pulled away from him and looked at him, baffled.

“And when have we actually handled anything properly?”

“We can get ahead of this. You’ll go to Hogwarts tomorrow, get what you need. I’ll start hunting down Granger and Weasley. It’s practically impossible to apparate out of Britain without allowance, so they can’t have gone far. I’m going to start training you in Occlumency starting tomorrow night and if you can brew more Veritaserum, we can practice building a resistance to it—”

“But if anyone finds out that—”

“Which is why I need to get to Granger and Weasley first,” he said, releasing her and heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Summoning Snape. He needs to know.”

She went to him and stopped him. “No. I don’t trust him.”

“I do and that’s what matters. He’s the best chance we have. Just stay here, get some rest,” Draco said, brushing her hair out of her face gently before leaving the room. Valeria was astonished that there was no lecture, no scolding, no outburst about how much she had jeopardized them.

Meanwhile, despite his exhaustion, Draco was energized by what Valeria had shared. The profound shock of Granger and Weasley being alive, let alone the danger that Valeria and himself had been put in by this pure happenstance, had not quite dawned on him yet. But it was enough to spurn him into action. He had handed Potter over for Valeria’s pardon, that was unequivocally true, but at the time he had also hoped that perhaps the deed would endear him enough to the Dark Lord to be overlooked. Instead, Draco had only been entrusted with more and more duties. Handing over Granger and Weasley would ensure Draco’s position, and the safety of his family, forever.

Draco awaited Snape in his study, which had been Lucius’s until Draco began rising in the ranks, going over maps and records of known and suspected enemy safehouse locations. The house elf let Snape in on Draco’s command and the former entered the study with a distinct scowl, though Draco could hardly blame him.

“And for what reason have you called me away from Hogwarts at this hour?” Snape asked. Draco told Snape. Draco didn’t beat around the bush, nor dabble in pleasantries, but immediately went into telling Snape what Valeria had told him. Snape’s mood did not lift but Draco had managed to get his professor’s full attention sharing the news.

“Of course, Valeria will need access to Hogwarts immediately. Tomorrow would be ideal,” Draco said.

“That can be arranged. I’ll have that corridor closed to ensure she’s not interrupted,” Snape said.

“Did you know there were basilisk fangs down there?” Draco asked.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing. I’m only a little curious as to why you wouldn’t mention when you knew she was looking for them. You don’t seem surprised to learn they’re there and I’m sure Dumbledore told you years ago.”

“In case you’ve forgotten what you just told me, Draco, the Chamber of Secrets can only be accessed by speaking Parseltongue, a skill that no one alive has save for the Dark Lord. Even if I knew the sounds could be mimicked, I had no way of knowing what they were and therefore found it to be a moot point since any surviving fangs would be inaccessible.”

“Right. Of course,” Draco said. Something about Snape was rubbing him the wrong way, but he blamed it on his anxiety and paranoia. “As for Valeria, I plan on training her in Occlumency starting tomorrow as well as practicing to resist Veritaserum. However, as a safety net…you know your way around memory charms; is there a way to perhaps be able to plant false memories should it come to that?”

Snape shifted in his seat. “Draco, you know how dangerous it is to manipulate memories too much. We run the risk of scrambling her mind.”

“Only after multiple times, which isn’t the case here. I need to know if you’ll help me or not.”

Snape sighed. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve never found it odd how firmly she believes Potter kidnapped her when he escaped from capture? You don’t find it strange how she doesn’t remember you shoving her right into Potter’s—”

“No. I haven’t,” Draco insisted. He didn’t want to hear it.

“It doesn’t bother you that someone tampered with your wife’s memories?”

“No, it doesn’t! Whatever she did, whatever she knew, was probably too dangerous anyway and it doesn’t matter. Potter is dead! The war was won and the less she knows of what happened, truly what happened, the better,” Draco said, standing from his seat. Draco had known of course that Potter never kidnapped Valeria, for he himself was the one who thrust Valeria into Potter’s arms to save her from Bellatrix’s, and the Dark Lord’s, wrath. The kidnapping narrative was convenient, so Draco stuck with it. He was willing to lie until he was unable to recognize fact from fiction if it meant she was a little bit safer. In fact, he found it easy to do so.

“You don’t want her to know the most selfless thing you’ve ever done for her?”

“Handing Potter over was the best thing I ever did for her,” Draco spat.

“You are certainly able to intimidate the rest of the world, but not me,” Snape said, unfazed. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I didn’t call you hear for a lecture. Are you willing or unwilling to manipulate her memories if needed?”

“Only if needed,” Snape said after a moment. “But I must advise you against training her yourself. I can assist if you like—”

“No one goes near her mind except for me,” Draco said darkly.

“It is generally considered poor practice for a loved one to train in Occlumency and Legilimency. You might discover things, thoughts and memories, you were never meant to know.”

“Bellatrix trained me.”

“And she discovered your feelings for Valeria and put a price on her head as a result.”

“You’re saying it like it’s _my_ fault—”

“No, you were a child. I’m simply trying to warn you of the consequences of your…overprotection,” Snape said.

“You’re the one who told me to reign her in!”

“I told you to guide her from making terrible mistakes, which clearly hasn’t worked if she was willing to allow Granger and Weasley to escape when she could have gotten the answers she wanted _and_ captured them.”

“She panicked. No one even knew they were alive.”

“And she was capable enough to know what to do. Yet, she didn’t.”

“I know she’s capable, but I don’t want her to have to be,” Draco said. “If you’re insinuating my wife is in any way disloyal, we’re going to have a problem, Snape.”

Snape rose, unwilling to contend with Draco’s stubbornness any longer. “We’ll do it your way for now but do so quickly. Hope that you get to Granger and Weasley soon.”

“It’s only a matter of time. I’m going to have the safehouses, and the Weasley home, watched around the clock. They won’t last long, and I want to be the first to get to them.”

Valeria hadn’t been near Hogwarts in years and Hogsmeade itself was a gloomy shadow of what it once was. The shops were still there, though some business had changed to tailor to the darker tastes of the clientele. The entire village was under the control of Death Eaters and Hogwarts security that were loyal to the Dark Lord.

“Mrs. Malfoy, welcome to Hogsmeade!” said a teenage boy approaching her. He carried himself proudly, with a cheerful smile, dressed in a Hogwarts uniform and gave a slight bow as he stopped before her. “Gerald Whittaker, Head Boy, at your service, ma’am. I was asked on behalf of Headmaster Snape to escort you into the castle. May I carry your things for you?”

Valeria was carrying a bag full of tools for handling the fangs and tucked within was also the box containing Ron’s voice speaking in Parseltongue. She had also packed Potter’s invisibility cloak earlier that morning after rushing back to Wales to retrieve it. Most awkward was the broom in her hand, which Draco had heard from Snape that she would need to get out of the Chamber. Draco had wanted her to take one of his brooms, but she insisted on using her brother’s. She was not looking forward to flying at all, let alone in some dank hole under the castle.

“Thank you, but I think I can manage,” Valeria said. She wasn’t going to trust anyone with her belongings.

“Of course, ma’am. If you would follow me,” Gerald said. She followed alongside Gerald as they made their way toward the castle, a bit glum about having to have an escort all. The castle loomed in the distance and even now she could sense the darkness and dread emanating from it. She remembered the years of laughter and lightness of heart at school and it broke her heart a little.

“I must say it is an absolute honor to have you visit,” Gerald said. “I look up to you and Mr. Malfoy so much, as do loads of us. You’re up there with the greatest Slytherins of all time—”

“Everyone is in Slytherin now,” she said.

“Well, yes. But we all know there’s a bit of a difference between them and those of us truly sorted into Slytherin,” Gerald said with a cheeky tone. “I’m sorry to be so obnoxious. I just admire your work so much. And Mr. Malfoy’s too; one of the youngest Death Eaters to earn the Mark!”

Gerald continued rambling all the way into the castle, which was all the same to Valeria, albeit surprising. Sometimes she forgot how far her and Draco’s reputation carried. She was more preoccupied with her task and the other one she wanted to complete while here. She would have to lose the escort for that though. Death Eaters standing guard at the gate mumbled friendly greetings to her as they allowed them to pass. As she walked to the doors to the entrance hall, she was met with a great statue of the Dark Lord standing triumphantly over the corpse of Harry Potter; a grizzly monument to the Dark Lord’s victory. Inside, Hogwarts was as bare as the dungeon corridors. The paintings were gone as was any semblance of décor. The students she saw either looked at her with nervous awe or turned their gaze away in fear.

Sure enough, in the entrance hall above them hung the banners of the Fallen Heroes, or so they were called. Her brother’s image swayed gently in the drafty hall as did her father’s beside it.

“Mrs. Malfoy!” Alecto Carrow said with a big grin as she approached. Valeria returned the smile. “I hope Mr. Whitaker has been treating you well.”

“He’s been a fantastic host, thank you—” Valeria began but was stopped by a sudden clatter and thud. A student had tripped and fallen, spilling their items and resulting with a potion shattering all over Valeria’s shoes. The student, a young boy who couldn’t have been older than a fourth year, looked up her with fear in his eyes as soon as he saw the scar on her face.

“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking—” the student stuttered.

Gerald’s friendly demeanor dropped in an instant and he stepped around the student to grab him by the collar of his robes. “You weren’t looking where you were going? Do you know who this is?! You will clean her shoes with your own robes—”

“That’s not necessary,” Valeria asserted.

“Agreed, but such flagrant disrespect cannot go unpunished. Whitaker, there’s a spot in the Great Hall for him.”

“No, please—!” the student said, starting to sob.

“After you apologize to Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto finished. Gerald forced the student to face Valeria, holding his wand to the boy’s head.

“M—Mrs. Malfoy, I apologize for not watching where I walked and bumping into you…” the boy was sobbing so hard he could barely speak.

“It’s alright,” Valeria began, shocked more than she should have been by the display and how eagerly Gerald was looking to exact punishment. “Professor Carrow, I believe shatter-proof vials are the current standard in the professional potioneer world. Perhaps I can arrange for a donation for heartier supplies…”

Alecto tried to hide her offense but grinned through it. “Why that would be quite generous. After you run the decision by your husband of course.”

“Considering how deeply Draco cares for the intellectual prosperity of young witches and wizards, I think he would agree. He certainly wouldn’t want the embarrassment of our youth being forced to work with outdated equipment. Not to mention he trusts my judgement when it comes to Potion-Craft, given my expertise. In fact, he often defers to me as does the Headmaster and the Dark Lord himself,” Valeria said with a sickly-sweet smirk and she could see the animosity in Alecto’s eyes. Neither Gerald, nor the boy he was using for a prisoner, picked up on the tension at all.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto said before turning to Gerald. “Whitaker, take him to the Great Hall, we’ll make a show at dinner as a lesson for how to behave around honored guests to this school. I’ll escort Mrs. Malfoy from here.”

“Yes, Professor,” Gerald said eagerly, dragging the sobbing child into the Great Hall. Valeria could see through the doors as they opened the austere sight. That’s where she found Potter’s ashes all those years ago.

“If you would follow me, Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto said, and Valeria obliged. They were quiet as they passed through the halls, students milling about darting out of their path on sight. Valeria remembered being treated similarly when she was Head Girl in her seventh year. She hated this place, only remembering the war and misery now. She couldn’t wait to leave. “Someday your children will have the run of this place, I’m sure.”

“Yes, someday.”

“I know the staff are all eager to have the opportunity to teach your potential offspring. The arranged unions haven’t resulted in any children yet and as you were the first…Well, we’re looking forward to seeing such success.”

Valeria was thinking about all the torturous things she’d like to see happen to Alecto Carrow as her blood began to boil. The boldness of inquiring about the state of Valeria’s womb made her skin crawl with its invasiveness.

“Yes, it will be a great honor to someday contribute to the prosperity of pure bloodlines as is all of our duties as pureblood women, wouldn’t you say?” Valeria said, noting Alecto’s lack of a spouse as they came to the correct floor where the corridor to the bathroom was vacant as Snape had ordered.

“I would. Though the Dark Lord ultimately decides, and he’s decided that some of us are suited for being wives and others for more playing a bigger part in rebuilding the world.”

“An interesting perspective, Professor. Perhaps I’ll share what you’ve said with my husband and see what he thinks, considering how much you seem to value his authority,” Valeria said, registering fear in Alecto’s eyes for a flash of a second.

“Sure. We can discuss it at the next meeting. I might bring up with him an idea that crossed my mind that perhaps you could come give a lecture, sharing your story and advice about how to be a model wife, for the older girls who just don’t have what it takes to play a bigger role themselves.”

“A splendid idea. I imagine I’d begin with the dangers of underestimating a woman who has the love of a powerful man,” Valeria said as she stopped before the bathroom. “Thank you, Professor, for your help. I can take it from here.”

Valeria turned and went into the bathroom without another word, leaving Alecto to stew in her own rage. She was eager to get out of Hogwarts as quickly as possible so immediately set to work in digging out the box and standing by the sink as Ron instructed. Opening the box, Ron’s hissing words rang out clear and Valeria watched with some degree of awe as the sink moved and the entrance was revealed to her. Clutching her broom tight, she awkwardly positioned herself and with a pounding heart, she pushed forward to let herself slide down. And down. And down. So long did she fall down that she thought it would never end until she was unceremoniously dumped onto piles of old bones.

If only her mother could see the state of filth she was in, that would have been amusing. Valeria tried not to look down as she got moving through the bowels of the school, hearing the bones and other unpleasant waste crunching under shoes. She would have been wise to wear less formal robes, though she wasn’t sure she owned any still.

Though she was anxious to do her task quickly she took a moment to stand in shocked awe once she accessed the Chamber of Secrets proper. There was Salazar Slytherin, the man who started all of this, in whose honor the Dark Lord carried out his hellish plot on the world. The man whose legacy her family had carried for generations, only being sorted into Slytherin for all the generations of her line. But before him was something truly more striking; the skeletal snake, massive enough to move within if she wanted, lay there with a notable hole in its skull and in its mouth, sharp teeth the size of her hand.

She got to work, trying not to tremble in the dark austereness of the Chamber. She could have spent weeks down there studying this creature, but that enterprise would have to wait. With her tools and hands protected by gloves, she carefully removed several of the creature’s teeth and stored them safely.

If she had been less anxious, less focused on the task at hand, she might have taken the time to consider how this beast was used to attack Muggleborns both before and during her lifetime and how now she was set to do the same thing with the creature’s parts. But she made quick work, a feeling of cold unease starting to overwhelm her and quickly made her way out of the Chamber, but not before taking a final look back at the sight.

She took a moment once back in the bathroom to catch her breath. She hated flying more than almost anything else and had to wait for the nausea to pass. She hid the broom away and pulled out Harry Potter’s cloak, holding her wand at the ready underneath. Slowly, she opened the bathroom just enough to let her pass through and shut it behind her silently. Wearing the cloak, she walked down the empty corridor, seeing Gerald standing guard at the end of the hall with another boy his age.

“What’d she like?” the boy asked.

“She seemed pretty uptight, but in a dignified way. I was kind of disappointed she didn’t say much,” Gerald said, his tone notably different than the friendly one he had used with her.

“Maybe if you flatter her a little…”

“I tried,” Gerald said.

“No, like her looks.”

“I don’t think hitting on Draco Malfoy’s bloody wife is going to help me get closer to becoming a Death Eater. My dad’s friends with some of the other Death Eaters and he told me that Malfoy apparently flies off the handle if someone looks at her the wrong way.”

“I didn’t say make a move on her, that’s just weird. Just like flatter her a little. She’s the one who arranges the marriages. Maybe she’ll remember and you’ll at least get a decent looking wife out of it.”

“God, I hope so…”

Valeria could not help but smile a little, trying not to laugh, as she invisibly passed them. Teenage boys never changed. She crept through the corridors, careful to keep close to the walls until she reached the seventh floor and willed the door to the Room of Hidden Things to appear. She removed the cloak, draping it over her arm once the door disappeared behind her and she was safely inside. She moved swiftly through the haphazard aisles of long forgotten secrets, some of which were her own. She wondered if anyone had been in here since the Battle of Hogwarts as a slight draft blew lazily past her, carrying its secrets in its wind. She missed the feeling of wind in her hair, having it styled in a tight updo most of the time.

It didn’t take her too long to reach the spot where the vanishing cabinet once stood. Despite her foggy memories of the war, she remembered well where it was. Sure enough, dusty splinters and pieces of wood strewn about as if someone had blown it apart. Someone had helped Granger and Weasley out and destroyed the cabinet in the process. Draco had not been too concerned about this, but it had troubled Valeria for a reason she could not place. She felt a sense of déjà vu as she stood there; Something was off. Whoever did this was smart enough not to leave any damning evidence behind. It was a shame the thing was destroyed; it might prove useful someday once again.

Her time was running short and she was getting uneasy there in that room where she and Draco had spent so many hours of their fleeting youth wallowing and working. Valeria hated remembering how their joy was spent and just how wasted their young lives were. It was best to get back home anyway. Draco had told her to rest before beginning with Occlumency and she doubted he’d let her skip practicing.


	15. Nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long and chaotic. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild description of sexual assault. Language. Vague discussion of violence. Vague discussion of death.

**September 2000**

“He’s my son, Severus. Please…The Dark Lord trusts you. There must be something you can do.”

It was hard for Snape to hold back. Lucius had always been a cunning man, even at school Snape recalled Lucius always thinking about his next move. Snape had admired that about his friend at the time. Lily never understood why he was friends with the likes of Lucius, Hieronymus, the Black sisters, Nott and all the others. How could he have expected her to understand? She didn’t understand what all those who were sorted into Slytherin implicitly knew.

Lucius always had an overinflated ego, an undeserved self-righteousness born of his wealth and influential name, and from the outside, at least now, Snape could understand Lily’s suspicion. Surely someone like Lucius, and his wealthy pureblooded friends, were only looking to use Snape’s intellect for their own gain. At least, from the outside it would appear that way.

But when Snape stepped off that stool at eleven years and tried so hard to conceal his nerves, Lucius congratulated him. Lucius welcomed Snape into the fold of Slytherin on impulse, without braggartry, without self-righteous pomp and circumstance. Snape was simply welcomed because he belonged. Snape’s half-bloodedness, his poverty, his crippling lack of confidence did not disqualify him from the ranks of friendship as it did with everyone else.

To Snape’s mind Slytherin was elite because of this irony. Because it didn’t matter who you were. If you were chosen, you belonged without question. You always belonged to the end of your days. Which was, even throughout he years his allegiances changed, he had a weakness for favoring the Slytherin students he instructed.

But Lucius’s zealotry, and that of the others, had made him blind to how good he had whilst Voldemort was gone between the wars. Lucius’s tragedy was getting everything he had ever wanted in the worst manner anyone could imagine.

“The Dark Lord sees potential in Draco. You should feel honored,” Snape said.

Lucius’s lip quivered and he went a little pale for a moment. “I am, I just fear he’s not ready—”

“He’s proven that he is. He handled Dumbledore the best he could, his…marriage he’s handled well. He’s the one who delivered Potter,” Snape said, hiding his regrets.

“I know! Draco resents me, both of us, but he trusts you more, Severus. I am only asking that you—”

“Watch over him. Yes, I know,” Snape said.

For it had not been the first time Snape had wanted to or been asked to watch over someone. Lily was first, and he failed. But Konstantin Winters the second and he still failed. Snape tried not to think about Konstantin, hard to do when the banner of his former student hung in the halls of the school.

Snape’s old friend and school fellow, Hieronymus Winters, had on more than one occasion in school used his charm and subtly persuasive to help Snape, particularly when it came to James Potter and his friends. So when Snape received a letter from Hieronymus years later, Snape still felt compelled to return that old favor, despite his change in allegiances.

_Severus,_

_I fear I have a rather embarrassing request to ask of you, but I trust you and your gift for discretion. My son has been involved with a girl at school that has been a terrible influence on him. I have redirected him, but as he proven his disobedience, I cannot trust him to remain true to his promises to end this nonsense. If you would not mind keeping an eye on Konstantin, ensuring that his focus is clear, Odessa and I would be much obliged._

_Sincerely,_

_Hieronymus Winters_

Hieronymus’s embarrassment over the situation made him guarded in revealing the entirety of the truth, even to Snape, but fortunately Snape already knew Konstantin’s secret. Perhaps it was Snape’s gift for perception, or his painful memories of Lily Evans, but it was no difficult to see that Konstantin loved Jane Masters.

Much like his own father, Konstantin achieved perfection in all areas of his life with great ease and the boy was a pleasure to teach. He was curious and intelligent, volunteered to answer questions in class but not enough to be a know-it-all. But the boy smiled a little broader when paired with Jane for classwork. Snape saw the way his eyes darted about, looking to see if he was being watched no doubt, before leaving mealtimes in the Great Hall early. Even the way Konstantin looked off at the Ravenclaw table despite the rambunctiousness of all the students around him. Snape knew that look all too well.

_“You asked to see me, Professor?” Konstantin, only eighteen and still in his seventh year, asked with a serene smirk, his default._

_Snape’s old friend and school fellow, Hieronymus Winters, had on more than one occasion in school used his charm and subtly persuasive to help Snape, particularly when it came to James Potter and his friends. So when Snape received a letter from Hieronymus years later, Snape still felt compelled to return that old favor, despite his change in allegiances._

_“You asked to see me, Professor?” Konstantin, only eighteen and still in his seventh year, asked with a serene smirk, his default. Snape slid Hieronymus’s letter to Konstantin, and he watched as the perfection the boy worked tirelessly to maintain fled._

_“I already broke it off,” Konstantin looking away sheepishly, handing the letter back to Snape. The sudden stark difference in demeanor would have startled Snape if he had not known better. “You know how parents are. You don’t need to keep tabs on me.”_

_“I know,” Snape said. “And that is not what I intended, Mr. Winters. I only want to caution you.”_

_Konstantin scoffed. “Forgive me, Professor, but I don’t need any help. It’s over and I learned my lesson and—”_

_“You’re quiet in class. You’ve been despondent and distracted since your return from home. Whatever this was, you need to forget it, for both your sakes. Really and truly forget it. Do you understand?” Snape said sternly. There was much more he wanted to say but could not without revealing too much about himself. Konstantin stood, staring at the floor for a moment._

_“Right. I know,” Konstantin said with a whisper. But Snape knew he didn’t know. He did not know what danger he would put himself and the girl in. Not yet. Konstantin was so very different than Snape himself was at that age. Handsome, heir to a great name and fortune, athletic, intelligent and well-liked by all; even the boy’s fiercest rivals how little more than friendly japes to speak bad of him with. Yet, the boy with the world at his feet could not have the one thing he ever truly wanted. That was something Snape understood with grief and shame._

Though Snape never took too much to teaching, there were those students that he had a fondness for. Konstantin being among them, as was Draco and Valeria. Snape had failed to watch over Draco. Snape had failed to keep Valeria and Draco apart. Dumbledore insisted they be allowed to stick together, to be a little less alone, but Snape knew too well that it would only plunge both into the darkness together. He never quite forgave Dumbledore for preventing an interference.

Snape’s failures added up when he failed to protect Harry Potter in honor of the boy’s mother, thanks to Draco Malfoy. Snape felt torn between hating Draco and feeling the urge to watch over him as he once did, as Lucius asked now. He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore, especially as he watched Draco and Valeria morphed from frightened children to dangerous monsters. For when the ends justify the means, power is all that matters. Little did Lucius know how much Snape had risked trying and save them all.

“I’ll do what I can,” Snape said.

**April 2003**

The first night of Occlumency had been spent with Draco going over what the practice was, technique and how to resist. It was a purely theoretical exploration, with Draco referring to various books and writings regarding the art. He was thorough and grave, straightforward in his instruction.

The actual training in practice was to begin tonight. Having spent all day in her little laboratory babysitting various potions and working tirelessly with the basilisk fangs to unlock their destructive permanence, Valeria found herself exhausted as she made her way to Draco’s study. That was perhaps for the best as she would begin in weakness, unable to defend attacks against her mind so easily, and would go stronger from there. That was her hope at least.

“This came for you today,” Draco said handing her an envelope with the Hogwarts seal on the back as she came into his study that night. Draco had a look on his face like he was trying to stifle a laugh. She opened it with a raised brow.

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I am writing to sincerely apologize for my discourteousness yesterday during your visit to Hogwarts. Please know that I surely meant no offense, though I see now where I communicated this quite poorly. I hope that we can repair the wounds and that we remain fierce allies in our allegiance to the Dark Lord. You are welcome to revisit Hogwarts at your pleasure. My sincerest apologies._

_For the Glory of the Dark Lord,_

_Professor Alecto Carrow_

“What did you?” Valeria asked with a smirk after reading the letter.

Draco shrugged. “After you told me what happened, I quite conveniently ran into Carrow at the Ministry this afternoon and had a little conversation to clear up any misunderstanding.”

“Unnecessary, but I appreciate your effort. The last thing I give a damn about is what that woman thinks.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help myself. The look on her face when I walked up to her was priceless,” Draco said.

She laughed. “Still bullying, I see.”

“Old habits die hard. Figured if I have as much influence as I do, why not have a little fun with it sometimes? Have a seat,” he said, his smile dropping some as he gestured to the armchair in front of his desk. She obliged suddenly getting nervous. He leaned down with a sigh, resting his hands on the arm of the chair. He was gripping the armrests hard as he reluctantly lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I’ll start off easy, but this is not going to be pleasant. I might see things you don’t want me to see. Just do your best to keep out. Keep eye contact and whatever you start feeling emotionally, shove it down. Bury it if you have to. Alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, not knowing exactly what to expect.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as if he feared an honest answer.

“Now and forever.”

He leaned forward and softly kissed her for a moment before coming to a stand and taking a couple steps back. He removed his wand and aimed it right at her, looking into her eyes. It was plain as day how he didn’t want to do this, but he swallowed and relaxed his shoulders on an exhale.

_“Legilimens.”_

Draco and the office disappeared in murky waves, as if she were suddenly plunged underwater. Images swirled before her eyes of own memories, thoughts and feelings into one jumbled mess she couldn’t make out clearly. She was starting to panic when everything stopped and she clearly saw the Department of Mysteries. Fear struck deep in her heart, not wanting to relive what had happened there in 1996, but she soon saw herself as a young girl, a few years before she started at Hogwarts, standing beside her imposing, dignified father in a corridor. Her young eyes were bright and full of life, looking about with great wonder and no fear.

_“Madam Minister,” Hieronymus Winters greeted with a broad smile and a friendly tone. An older woman turned and smiled warmly upon seeing him._

_“Hieronymus, how good to see you again,” Minister Millicent Baghold greeted before looking down at Valeria. “And this must be young Miss Valeria.”_

_“How do you?” Valeria greeted with a small curtsey that charmed the Minister with a laugh._

_“Well, aren’t you proper? There are those Winters manners; The apple doesn’t fall from the tree, does it Hieronymus?”_

_“Don’t be fooled, Madam Minister. This one may be the light of life, but she has mastered using those manners to get exactly what she wants from her mother and me. I had some documents to deliver and she convinced me to tag along. She wanted to see the Department of Mysteries.”_

_“I want to be an Unspeakable!” young Valeria said proudly. The Minister laughed again._

_“I see what you mean, Hieronymus. You’re a young lady with a purpose, Miss Winters. I like that,” the Minister said before looking at her father. “I’ll see you on Friday at the board meeting. It was wonderful to meet you Miss Winters, I hope to see you running this place someday.”_

_The Minister walked away, and Hieronymus bent over to lift Valeria in his arms. “I think as a reward for such good behavior we should make a stop in Diagon Alley for some ice cream. What do you say?”_

_“I wanted to see the mysteries…” Valeria said, disappointed._

_Hieronymus chuckled. “Someday you will. I promise. For now, all you need to worry about is ice cream.”_

_“Do you think she was right? That I could run this place someday?”_

_“You’re my daughter. You can do anything you want.”_

The scene swirled again, faster this time. Suddenly Valeria was young again, just a couple years older than in the previous memory. She was sitting in the dining room of the Winters castle with a sullen expression and her eyes folded indignantly across her chest. Odessa Winters, younger and the epitome of ladylike sophistication sauntered over to her daughter.

_“Uncross your arms, Valeria. We’re practicing posture, remember? Ten minutes of perfect stillness. We need to make sure it’s in your muscle memory,” Odessa instructed._

_“I want practice dancing,” Valeria said, grumpily obeying her mother._

_“Dance lessons are on Thursdays, dear.”_

_“Doesn’t mean I can’t practice on other days. No one cares how straight I sit in a chair…”_

_Odessa crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Maybe not today. Maybe not for many years. But someday there might be a time when everyone looks to you for grace and poise. There might be a time when you’re scared, but you will always be able to rely on your dignity. I did this, your brother did it too. Let it be your shield and it will serve you well.”_

The memories swirled as Draco had his way with her mind. She was a little older now, the summer between her second and third years, and she was sitting in an office opposite her brother who worked at a desk in the Ministry of magic.

_“You’re sighing again,” Konstantin said._

_“Maybe if this weren’t so boring,” Valeria said._

_Konstantin smirked. “If you think watching me work is boring, you should try actually doing it.”_

_“Then why do you work here if you hate it so much?”_

_It was Konstantin’s turn to sigh as he looked up from his paperwork. Seeing this memory now, Valeria could just how dead his once bright eyes were. “Sometimes we have to do thing we’d rather not do for the greater good. That’s why father made you come sit with me here all day even though you’re bored out of your mind; so you can learn about what it is to work here.”_

_“What good can being so bored really do?”_

_“Wisdom from the mouth of babes…” Konstantin said to himself. He seemed to stop still for a moment, looking down at the document in hand, but seeing something else far away. He slammed the paper onto the desk and stood, grabbing his workbag from off a rack. “We’re getting out of here.”_

_“But father said I’m supposed to learn about working—”_

_“Sitting and staring at me for hours on end isn’t learning. When we get home tonight, as far as father’s concerned, our day was spent being very diligent doing mind-numbing busywork all day. Hurry up, grab your things.”_

_“What if you get sacked?”_

_Konstantin laughed, instantaneously the clever young man with the charming smirk so full of life and joy once more. “You really think they’re going to sack Hieronymus Winters’s son for some mild truancy? Come on, I’m thinking lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and we’ll see where this adventure takes us from there.”_

Valeria did not know what was worse, remembering often the pain of losing her father and brother, or being forced to relive the memories of the happiness that she lost. Her grief was making her weak, but she compelled Draco with her mind to leave her familial memories behind. The scenes of her life were blurring together until they stopped in the Slytherin common room, decked out in shining, glittering, holiday décor. Valeria was there, all of fourteen years old, and there was Daphne, Tracey and Pansy…Pansy. They were laughing, giggling even, faces flushed from the warmth of the room.

_“It’s just a stupid ball, Pansy,” Tracey said. “I’d rather just avoid it altogether and have the common room all to myself.”_

_“It’s not stupid! It’s going to be great. If anyone ever asks us that is…” Pansy defended._

_“Pfft, we’ll be asked. The boys will get too desperate eventually,” Daphne said._

_“Could always ask someone yourself,” Tracey said with a shrug._

_“Oh, absolutely not,” Valeria said haughtily. “They have no problem acting tough in class or playing Quidditch, then asking us a simple question should be easy for them.”_

_“And what if no one asks us…asks me…?” Pansy said, despondent._

_“Then we’ll all go together,” Valeria offered._

_“Probably more fun than hanging out with one of them all night anyway,” Daphne said. The girls laughed, other than Pansy who was still concerned about getting a date to the Yule Ball, when Draco stepped in front of the girls, looking right at Valeria, nearly scowling, shoving his hands in his pockets._

_“I need to talk to you,” Draco said sternly. The girls were smiling and Draco started blushing._

_“Yes, Draco I’m doing very well and it’s a lovely evening, isn’t it? Thank you for asking,” Valeria teased. Draco’s face flushed pinker._

_“I need to talk to you. Alone.”_

_“Alright, alright. Calm down,” Valeria said getting up. Draco turned on his heel and marched away. The girls started laughing and Valeria herself had to stifle a laughing fit while she put a finger to her mouth to shush them before following Draco to a secluded corner of the common room where he told some younger students to scram. He stiffened when he turned back to her._

_“Do you have a date?” he asked, practically mumbling, struggling to meet her eyes._

_“Why do you care?” Valeria asked. He rolled his eyes._

_“Do you want to go to this stupid dance with me or not?!” he said, raising his voice a little and turning his gaze away._

_“Not if you act like that,” she said, folding her arms._

_He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine. Will you go to the ball with me?”_

_“You’re asking me of all people? I’m surprised. I know Pansy was sort of hoping you would ask her.”_

_“Well, don’t flatter yourself. My mum told me to ask you—” he started, cut off by Valeria snort-laughing. “I didn’t mean like—Fine! Don’t go with me.”_

_She grabbed his sleeve as he pushed past her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I will go with you to the ball, Draco.”_

_He stopped, but his cheeks were still pink as he tried to regather his composure. “Right. Good. What color are your dress robes?”_

_“Why do you care?” she asked._

_“Because I—” he once more had to compose himself. “Just tell me the bloody color.”_

_“Purple.”_

_“I should have known.”_

_He walked off and she rejoined her friends who eagerly heard the story of how Draco asked her to the ball, though Pansy looked disappointed._

_“You could do better than Malfoy,” Daphne said._

_“I know, but I felt kind of bad for him. Besides, maybe I don’t want to do better for now.”_

_Daphne rolled her eyes. “You two are so exhausting.”_

The scene swirled again, quicker this time. What did Draco want to see? Where was he going with this? It was the common room again, Christmas Eve. Valeria was descending the stairs with her friends and Draco looked up at her with an expression that she, at the time, had never seen him wear. He approached with a small box in hand as he gently pulled her away from her friends.

_He cleared his throat. “You look…You look nice.”_

_“As do you,” she said. She was telling the truth then, a bit surprised with how well Draco cleaned up. Though seeing it again now so many years later, it was a bit silly, in a childishly cute way. Draco thrust the small box toward her. Opening it, Valeria found a small bouquet of purple flowers making up a corsage._

_“You don’t have to wear it. I know it’s stupid. My mum forced me to get it, saying that it’s important or traditional or whatever. I told it was for old people and you wouldn’t like it but—” he rambled._

_“I like it very much,” she said, pulling it out of the box. “Do you mind giving me a hand?”_

_“Right, sure,” he said, genuinely surprised by her reception of the gift. Gently, as if she were made of glass, he put the corsage on her wrist with clumsily, clammy fingers. Valeria realized it was the first he ever touched her beyond forced hugs and posing for pictures._

_“Thank you,” she said quietly when he finished._

These were hard memories to suffer through too, she realized as Draco moved on. But he wasn’t giving up. She was trying to resist, trying to force him out, but she almost didn’t want to. The scene morphed again and this time they were outside Hogwarts, still the Yule Ball, in a snowy corner of the stone walls, alone.

_“Did you see Weasley? He’s all alone, it’s pathetic—” Draco said, laughing._

_“I don’t care about them,” she said, digging through her robes._

_“What are you doing?” Draco said with a raised brow._

_“You don’t think this ridiculous amount of fabric is all for show, do you?” she said, smirking. She pulled a metal flask from one of her hidden pockets and Draco’s eyes widened._

_“Are you mad? Where did you even get that?”_

_“Father’s mead stores. Why are you looking at me like that?”_

_He looked down as he laughed. “Nothing, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking, acting, less than perfect. Not that you’re not perfect now, I just—”_

_“I understand. Do you want to do the honors?” she said, offering him the flask. He took it from her and drank, his face contorting into a horrible wince as he handed it back. He coughed through the burn in his throat as she drank, resulting in the same reaction. They could barely manage two more small sips before giving up._

_“Are you cold?” he asked._

_“I’m alright.”_

_Still, he removed the outer layer of his robes and draped it around her shoulders. Valeria remembered the immediate relief of the thick, warm fabric enveloping her body. Draco rubbed her upper arms to warm her up more. She looked up at him, this time it was her turn to blush. Even the small of alcohol she had warmed her stomach and she felt impulsive. He must have too because he leaned down slowly and gently his as the tips of their cold noses brushed each other’s flushed cheeks._

Draco moved on quickly and she was glad he did. That memory gutted her, and she felt her mind growing weaker against his probing into her memories. To think that this man, a murderer capable of unimaginable cruelty was ever once just an insecure teenage boy whose most guarded secret was his ultimate tenderness.

Several scenes flashed before her eyes so quickly that she almost felt nauseous. Sixth year, all the times she had spent staring at him as he withered away. The serpentine ward for her wrist he had given her as a Christmas gift, that she still wore even now. Potter nearly murdering him in that bathroom, her uniform damp with Draco’s blood as she held his head out of the water and he clutched the collar of her robes. Not there…She didn’t want Draco to stay there. He moved on to seventh year, their wedding. That horrible wedding.

He suddenly moved backwards. The lonely nights hiding herself away in the Leaky Cauldron. Konstantin’s lifeless corpse. No. Not there. Fifth year. The brief, juvenile romance with Terry Boot. There was Draco again, sitting on a patch of grass by the shore of the Black Lake, laughing as she spun around in the magical wind he created, her face lifted to the sky to be graced by sunlight. Then he was spinning her around in the hallway as their final O.W.L. exam ended. Draco stopped there, the night the fifth years had control of the common room once exams were completed.

_Everyone was celebrating. There were games and magical streamers flew about the room. There was so much laughter that Valeria remembered she could hardly hear herself think, a welcome relief after spending so much time focused on her studies and lamenting the state of the world. There had been a dare and Draco dragged her to her feet by her wrist to center of the room, the furniture having been moved to the walls. They stood and grabbed each other’s opposite wrists, all the while Valeria coyly feigned resistance._

_“Ready, set, go!” Blaise shouted and with a sudden Draco began to spin, taking her with him. This stupid game where two spin in a circle and see which pairing can remain standing the longest. Around and around they went, the world blurring around them, only being able to see each other clearly. Faster and faster, laughing harder and harder. Suddenly, Draco stopped and they both tried to stand on wobbly legs thrown off balance._

_Her friends cheered for her, certain that someone so preoccupied with how they carried themselves would surely have enough grace to stay upright. But they were quite wrong. As Valeria tried to maintain her balance and catch her breath from all the spinning and laughter, she stumbled. Draco reach out to catch her and she fell into his arms, but given his own lack of balance, he too stumbled backward, lost his step and fell to the floor._

_The room erupted with roaring laughter as Valeria landed on top of Draco’s chest with a thud. Fortunately, an ornate carpet protected them from the stone floor, Draco in particular. What would have otherwise been a humiliating moment for the both of them was instead joyous. Valeria perched herself up some, the world around her still spinning in her dizziness, but Draco’s face was clear. Face flushed, hair a mess, sweating a little and breathing heavy through laughter. He was returning the wide, toothy grin she too wore. All of the good in him, that he worked tirelessly to hide, was right there before her eyes in that moment clearer than anything else in the entirety of everything._

But nearly a decade on from that night, Valeria could not bear it. With all her might she willed Draco away from that memory and sped through the recent years with dizzying acceleration. All the pain, the suffering, the death, the blood. Draco plunged on through her mind all the way to Christmas in the liquor cellar with Goyle’s body pressing her back hard into the shelves as he ran his vile hand under the skirts of her robes and up her leg….

Then it all stopped. Valeria was back in the present in that armchair, sweating and shaking. She was breathing hard and heavy looking straight ahead at Draco who was lowering his wand. His face was contorted into nauseous disgust, his eyes filled with anger as if he wished Goyle were still alive so he could kill him all over again. He put his hand on the desk to steady himself as he caught his own breath and ran his other hand through his hair.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Are you?”

“I need a second,” he whispered, looking down at the floor. She let him have what time he needed. “Why’d you shove me out of that memory? The common room, fifth year, the spinning one. You barely resisted the others.”

Tears filled her eyes and she choked on her breath as she tried to stifle her sobs, too weak of spirit to subdue her sadness. She could hardly believe the boy who stopped her fall, the one who _really_ laughed, the one who even at his worst never ceased being full of life would grow into who he was now. Her heaving breath overwhelmed, and she shook as she fully wept. He crouched down after rushing to her and pulled the pins that kept her hair tight on her head out, letting her long hair relax as it tumbled down. He cupped her face in his hands to calm her.

“We’ll stop for now. I’m sorry…” he said. “Tell me why, Valeria. Why did shove me out of that memory?”

She looked at him, his face blurry in her tears, swallowing hard. “That was the last time…That was right before the Department of Mysteries. That was the last time I was happy.” She lost herself to tears again and held her arms around Draco with an iron grip as he brought her to his chest and ran his fingers through her hair.

“Me too,” he whispered after a few moments. She pulled away to look at him.

“I’m sorry—”

“Valeria, don’t.”

“I’m sorry that you’ve done what you’ve done for my sake. I’m sorry I’m not worth—”

“Stop.”

“How can I when it’s my fault—?”

His fingers were ensnared in her hair as intense tears filled his eyes. “I have loved you since I was fourteen goddamn years old, don’t you understand?!” he said through gritted teeth. “I would rather be with you than have everything else I ever wanted and never see bloodshed again. You need to listen because I don’t want to have to say this again. None of this is your fault. We were born into this. We never had a choice. And I never had a choice in loving you.”

Fear gripped her heart hearing those words, not for herself but at the thought of ever losing him. He was not the man she imagined herself marrying, ever. But no one loved her like him. Hope filled her heart in pain. She hated feeling hopeful because if she had even the faintest amount of it, it could be ripped from her at any moment. It was easier not to hope at all. But, like he said, she didn’t have a choice. She had hope for him, feeling his touch, experiencing once more the tenderness that still lived somewhere within him that she could she find.

She had loved him so long that she had forgotten how to love anything else and some primal need for his affection overwhelmed her as she leaned forward to kiss him. Softly, almost fearfully at first, not unlike when they were teenagers. But then their passions grew more intense and she had no choice but to open herself up to him in every way.

Fear gripped Ginny Weasley’s heart too, but there was no relief to be found for her as she knocked on the door of the quiet Lovegood home. She remembered the words she read from the anonymous letter that had explicit instructions to burn after reading.

_The boy’s mother is dead._

_Ginny Weasley was betrothed to Goyle. Goyle is dead. Do not discover by whose hand._

_It will get worse. You are being watched. Always. Do not discover why._

_-J.D._

Ginny knew she was likely disobeying their mysterious ally’s implied command. She was sure she was being watched, she could feel it, as she stood on the Lovegood doorstep with the hood of an old, ragged cloak over her head. She had to be careful. She was desperate for allies, for more help, but she didn’t want to risk more vulnerable lives than she had to. How did Harry walk through this world its weight on his shoulders each day? She would never truly know. Seamus in particular was growing volatile in his frustration and she as starting to resent him for his expectations. What was she supposed to do?

The door opened and she was shocked at who stood inside.

“Terry…I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting—”

“I’m surprised to see you too,” he said. He looked exhausted. He had that same look she saw in so many faces over the years. Sirius Black in particular had the same look; a face ravaged by the misery of Azkaban prison.

“Is Luna here? I wantd to talk to her,” Ginny said.

“What about?” Terry asked.

“Anything. Everything.”

Terry looked reluctant, but eventually allowed her in. He directed her to sit while he fetched Luna. Ginny didn’t sit, but instead rushed to Luna and embraced her when her old friend came into the room. Luna flinched at first but warmed to the hug after a moment.

“Are you alright?” Ginny asked.

“As well as I can be,” Luna said. Her voice still carried a sing-song tone, but was notably weaker, which broke Ginny’s heart. Terry joined the young women and Ginny sat down near Luna.

“I’m sorry about what they’re making you do,” Ginny said. An announcement had run in the paper about the upcoming nuptials of Terry and Luna. It was a short paragraph far to the back and easily overlooked; a formality than anything else.

“It could have been much worse,” Luna said quietly, though she sounded unsure.

“How?”

“We could have been forced with...much worse people,” Terry said bitterly.

“Like Goyle,” Ginny said softly.

“Oh, yeah, him. His obituary made my week,” Terry said with scorn. “It’s a good thing he died before he got another chance to ruin some other woman’s life.”

“He almost did. Mine.”

“I don’t remember reading that…” Terry said, shocked.

“It didn’t run in the papers as far as I know. But I know I was assigned to him,” Ginny said.

“How do you know?” Terry asked with suspicion. Ginny kicked herself. She had already said too much.

“I can’t tell you. But I think was Goyle on purpose. That’s all I know. I even thought of sending whoever did it flowers to thank them. At least you two lucked out,” Ginny said.

Terry scoffed. “For now. I won’t be sending Winters any bouquets anytime soon.”

“Valeria?”

Luna nodded. “She’s the one who arranged for us…Terry and me.”

“Why the hell would she—?”

“She did it for herself, as usual. She felt guilty that Parkinson killed herself when she found out she was having a girl and Valeria didn’t want it to happen again. She was just trying to make herself feel better,” Terry said.

“How do you know that?”

“She told me when she visited me about me and Luna. Not that it was a pleasant visit.”

“I saw her in Azkaban too. She told me she killed my father…” Luna said, looking to the floor with tears in her eyes.

“She what!?” Ginny said, but Luna shook her head.

“It was after the Dementor’s Kiss. She was…trying to end his suffering,” Luna said. Terry put a hand on Luna’s in a more friendly than romantic manner.

“The lesson being, if you see Winters knocking on your door, no good news can come of it,” Terry said.

“I know. She, Malfoy and his gang too, came to interrogate me some time back.”

“About what?!” Terry asked.

“No idea. It was all so bizarre. She searched my house and Malfoy asked me all these cryptic questions under Veritaserum. They were looking for basilisk fangs of all things—”

“Well, that can’t be good,” Terry said. “Those are dark objects. Rarely used because they’re so damn dangerous to work with, but potent and powerful. No one, not even Winters, would be bold enough to search for them unless they absolutely have to.”

“Shit…” Ginny said. “They didn’t find anything from me. If I had a secret stash of basilisk fangs, I would have sold them by now.” Ginny remembered the event of her interrogation, how she locked eyes with Valeria when she stepped on the trap door. Valeria knew something was there, there was no way around it. It kept Ginny up at night to know that Valeria knew she was hiding something. She had to wonder why she didn’t say anything to Malfoy, but then again, most things Valeria did made no sense to Ginny.

“It’s strange. She goes out of her way to do these odd things for us, yet she’s—”

“We talked about this, Luna. She made it very clear to me that she’s loyal to Malfoy, even though he’s a fucking psychopath. She’s doing what she’s always done; playing as many angles as she possibly can. She’s probably just trying to gain our trust to spy on us or worse…” Terry ranted. The anger in his tone was something Ginny understood implicitly. She hated Valeria just as much, if not more so than Terry did.

“Listen, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’m here because…I could use all the friends I can get. I think there’s people on the inside trying to help—I can’t say too much—but—”

“Luna, would you mind fetching Ginny a cup of tea?” Terry asked, taking Ginny aback. Luna smiled softly as she left the room and Terry watched her go, waiting for her to be far enough away before leaning forward.

“I can’t ask her to fight anymore; after her father, she's not the same, and I…Well, if we _have_ to be married, I might as well do what I can to keep us both safe.”

Ginny’s face fell. “I understand…”

He reached into a pocket deep in his robes and removed a small glass vial containing a single hair. “Ever wonder why most of the Death Eaters keep their hair on the shorter side? Why the women tie theirs back so tight to pull the skin on their face up? Winters left this behind when she visited me.”

“You aren’t suggesting…”

“I can get more. I can’t help you with the ingredients. My record is against me and the ingredients are so heavily regulated. But if you can get them, if you have a plan, I can brew it—”

“Terry,” Ginny shook her head and held the vial back to him. “I’m being watched. I can barely afford to feed my mother and me. I can’t—"

Terry held out his hand to stop her. “Hold onto to that. Keep it mind.”


	16. Low Light on the Shore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Mild consensual sexual content.

**October 1999**

Draco never paid attention in Muggle Studies. Learning about Muggle ways was, to him at the time, bizarre and pointless. But now, in his quest for quiet, he became intrigued.

Faith was not something widely engaged with in this corner of the Wizarding World. While major holidays were celebrated and Halloween was viewed as historically and culturally significant, there was not much need for God when there was magic. But perhaps this was something the Muggles understood better than wizards. For in Wiltshire there was a small stone chapel set in a wide field, which in the summer was bursting with the golden life of sunflowers.

Draco would come to this place every so often, careful not to become a regular visitor. The chapel served the nearby village which, unbeknownst to Draco, was dwindling fast in population with the youths seeking their fortunes in larger communities with more profitable opportunities. He was sure to arrive late and leave early to their services, if he happened upon them, and kept his head down. They were sparsely attended, and they sung old songs that were hard to sing. Draco sat in the back. The droning of the old bell above rang through his shattered spirit.

And sometimes Draco would sit alone on the creaky wooden bench. They never locked the doors of this place, which Draco found strange. He had heard Muggles were a paranoid breed who thought everyone was out to get them. Why would they leave their most sacred places so easy to access? He should have paid attention more in class.

“Can I light a candle for you, my son?”

The voice startled Draco. Despite the low tone, it still echoed off the stone walls and Draco sharply turned upward. Draco recognized the old man who had led the few services Draco had attended and observed. His long black robes and vestments oddly enough made this Muggle look like a wizard. The man had a gentle demeanor, a soft and forgiving smile that made Draco feel out of place.

“What for?” Draco asked.

“For a prayer, of course.”

“A prayer for what?” Draco was horribly bewildered, but the old man was completely unfazed by Draco’s ignorance. In fact, he seemed almost serene.

“For you, son,” the old man said. No one called Draco _son_ , save for his own parents.

Draco fidgeted. “I’m not…didn’t mean to make you think that I’m…I’m not religious.”

“And why should only the faithful know the love of God?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Draco asked. The old man laughed a little. He nodded towards Draco’s hand.

“You’re married?” he asked, noticing Draco’s wedding ring. Draco nodded in response. “You’re quite young.”

“Our situation is complicated,” Draco said sternly.

“You love her?”

Draco looked him dead in the eye. “More than life.”

The old vicar nodded. “If you’ve known love, then you’ve known God.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think you have to?” the old man said with a shrug.

Draco hated talking in riddles. He was growing frustrated with this disturbance to his solitude. “And what would you even pray for, for my sake? You’ve got no idea who I am—”

“I don’t have to. You do. God does. What is it you need?”

“I don’t need anything,” Draco said.

“Then why are you here?”

Draco scoffed. “Could use some of the forgiveness you people ramble about. But some of us don’t have the right to ask for that any longer.”

“Ah,” the old man said with a slow nod. “Son, like love itself, you don’t have to ask for forgiveness. It is simply given.”

“That makes no bloody sense.”

The old man laughed. “God seldom does make sense, to us anyway. God knows your heart as does, I assume, this woman you love so well. That’s enough.” Draco said nothing as the old man went to the small altar at the front of the chapel and mumbled something inaudible as he lit a candle amongst the many.

Draco was captivated by the dancing flames on that altar in their little red jars of thick glass. He remembered a sermon the old priest gave on one of his other visits here. The priest spoke about God being the great lighthouse beacon to guide lost ships safely home, but that the people, the faithful around that beacon made up the low light on the shore.

Draco rose and slowly approached the altar. “Can…Can I light one?” he asked in a whisper. The priest said nothing but handed him a long, thin piece of wood and an unlit candle in a jar. Resisting the instinct to use his wand, Draco carefully performed the foreign ritual, using the flame of the candle lit for him to light the second in his hand. The little light that danced in his palm was Valeria’s. Hers alone. His low light on the shore.

“How long will they burn for?” Draco asked.

“For as long as someone tends to them.”

The old man left the room after a moment and Draco stealthily removed his wand to cast an intricate series of spells on the two candles before returning to a pew to sit quietly again. The old man sat in the pew behind Draco in silence upon his return to the sanctuary. Draco stifled his paranoia, the urge to resist the gift of sitting quietly in a room with someone who had no agenda, who did not suspect him, who did not know the gravity of his sins.

The priest never saw the strange young man with the white-blond hair ever again after that incident. But he marveled in the hours after the young man’s departure at the candles that had been lit during his visit. For those little flames never snuffed, nor did they ever need tending. The wax never melted, and the wicks never dwindled. Ever. Even after their souls had departed the world. It had become local legend, a pilgrimage for the faithful to bear witness to the little miracle of the fires that never died and the story of the strange man, for whom they were lit in love, only to never be seen again.

Only Draco ever knew the truth, that it was simply magic. But in his immature lack of wisdom, he never learned that perhaps something pure and divine played a part in guiding his hand. It didn’t have to be this God or any other. Draco never did, in the years he had left, grasp the irony of him scorning and chiding Muggles for bowing down to a higher power whilst he dedicated his life to preaching that magic was might. 

But the legendary lesson of the ever-enduring flames persisted regardless of reality. Perhaps that mattered more. The lesson was and eternally remained this; That hope was at its strongest, at its purest, in the hearts of the hopeless.

**June 2003**

Valeria had improved in Occlumency significantly since the start but was feeling a bit weary today. She had been so preoccupied with her own work that she was vulnerable against Draco’s invasion of her mind. Hard at work once more in Draco’s study, he was easily exploring her memories while she resisted.

He had wandered into a particular cranny of her mind from a few months after their reunion. Draco lingered on this memory of the two of them. In bed. At the height of a deep, longing passion…

Her indignant annoyance made it easy to force Draco out and she was back in the armchair as the scene faded away, met with Draco’s satisfied smirk.

“Do you think you’re clever?”

“It worked didn’t it? Irritating you made it easier for you to defend your mind,” Draco said, leaning against the desk behind him.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, your intentions were purely educational.”

He shrugged. “Give me a break, it’s my birthday.”

“Two weeks ago,” she said. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Old habits die hard, darling. Ready for another go?”

She raised a brow. “And to what are you referring?”

“Now who’s the pervert?” he joked. “You need more practice.”

“Don’t you have a meeting soon? I’m spent, Draco—”

“Not for another hour. And that’s precisely why we should practice. If you can force me out at your weakest, you’ll be stronger overall.”

“Snape always arrives early, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Then he can wait. Stop stalling.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s stalling.”

Draco was flustered for a moment. “I’m not. Now hold still. _Legili—_ ” A pop cut Draco off and he turned sharply on the house elf who had just intruded upon them. “What have I told you about entering rooms without warning?!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but an urgent letter arrived and—” Tinky stuttered.

“Fine. Give it here,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s for Madam Malfoy, s—sir,” Tinky said. Valeria held out her hand accepted it, dismissing the elf with a wave of her hand and he did not have to be asked twice to leave.

“It’s from St. Mungo’s,” she said, examining the seal. It was a thick envelope with several folds of parchment within.

_Dear Valeria,_

_I’m relieved to inform you that the most recent tests of your work on the Tranquila Sensus potion have yielded promising results. I suspect that your formula will be finalized soon, and the next phase of production can begin. Please see the enclosed documents for the details of our experiments’ results._

_Sincerely,_

_Daphne Zabini_

_Department of Experimental Magical Medicine_

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

Valeria’s relief made her heart light for a moment. It had been such a tedious process and she was worried about how she would be reprimanded if the Dark Lord decided she was taking too long to develop a sure formula. She too felt a tinge of arrogant triumph; She had been right about the basilisk fangs and all the trouble she went to in order to hunt down and collect them was worth it. Though, with Ron and Hermione still at large, only time would tell how the consequences of her mercy would play out.

“This is good news,” Draco said after reading it for himself. “At least something is going right.”

Valeria suspected that he was putting off preparing for his meeting in order to procrastinate out of frustration. He didn’t want to speak much of it, but from he told her the hunt for Ron and Hermione was not going well. All Ginny Weasley ever did was buy food, stay in her house with her half-mad mother and visit the Lovegood home nearby with some regularity. Other leads quickly revealed themselves to be dead ends.

A pop again.

“Dammit, Tinky!” Draco said.

“S—Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Headmaster Snape has arrived—”

“Tell him to wait,” Draco order.

“I did, sir, but he insisted on meeting with you now—”

“Fine,” Draco spat. “I’ll meet him in the drawing room in a moment.”

“No, sir. He says to meet in the foyer. He’s brought something large and needs to store it—”

“What is it?” Draco asked.

“He would not tell Tinky nor let him see, though I says to him it would make you angry….”

“Fine. I’ll meet him in a second.” Tinky understood his cue to leave and popped out of the room.

“Told you,” Valeria teased.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, conveniently getting out of practice. You’re lucky Snape’s such an ass. Find you after? It’ll probably be…several hours.”

Valeria felt a little guilty for teasing him, seeing as he already was so exhausted before the meeting even begun. “I’ll be testing my Patronus theory in the usual spot if you need me.” She approached him and gently rubbed his upper arms. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked softly.

“If you do.”

With a kiss, he dismissed himself without another word and Valeria retreated down to the empty room that she and Draco had used to practice dueling, though they had been slacking in that department in favor of Occlumency, at Draco’s insistence. She still believed manifesting a dark mirror of a Patronus was possible, even if doubters like Snape believed the notion was purely theoretical. Valeria though felt bitter about her inability to cast a proper Patronus. What had been made clear in Occlumency training was that the memories of grief and terror were easier to endure than the painful nostalgia of the joyful. Therefore, scraping the reaches of her mind for a happy memory to conjure a Patronus did not suit her. With her notes spread on the floor by the wall, she felt determined. If the Patronus Charm was not available to her, she would make on herself.

Draco marched over to Snape who stood beside a large, flat-ish object covered by an even larger cloth.

“Ah, there you are—” Snape started.

“What is that and why the hell is it in my house?” Draco asked sternly.

“A mirror. A magical one. It was stored at Hogwarts and used in 1991, but the Dark Lord decided he wanted easier access to it and requested I bring it here. Your father’s cellar is quite secure for magical objects—”

“You mean _my_ cellar. I don’t want random cursed objects in my bloody house. We’ll take it to the Winters castle. It’s more secure and—”

“It is not cursed. And the Dark Lord wants it here. You dare defy him?”

Draco’s face contorted in anger, but there was no way he could argue or rage his way out of this. “What’s it do? Show me.”

“I can just tell you. I don’t if you’d enjoy seeing directly what it—”

“If it’s not cursed, you’ll have no problem showing me.”

Snape sighed. “If you insist, Draco.”

With a wave of his wand, Snape heaved the thick cover off the mirror and Draco stood before it. There was some strange writing on its ornate frame, but Draco’s attention quickly diverted to his own reflection.

Except it wasn’t his own reflection.

It certainly was him. A little older maybe, but still youthful. He was dressed finely and with a broomstick in hand. He was smiling…really smiling, as if he were having the best day of his life. Beside him stood Valeria. Her face was unscarred, her chestnut-colored hair down and free. She was hanging on his arm, dressed well but her robes actually had color to them. It was how she used to dress. She was smiling broadly at this fake Draco, proudly and adoringly. The false reflections looked at him and didn’t stop smiling. They weren’t stiff, rather completely at contented, loving ease.

They looked as if none of this had ever happened.

The real Draco took a few steps back. “What the hell is this?”

“The Mirror of Erised; it shows the viewer their deepest desires and that’s all. I’m sorry if you’ve seen—”

“Cover it now. Tinky!” Draco called. Tinky popped into the room while Snape magically set the cover back on the mirror. “Get this thing to the cellar now and don’t tell anyone about it.”

“At once, Mr. Malfoy,” Tinky said.

“We’ll go the drawing room, Snape,” Draco said, not waiting for Snape before turning and heading to the stairs. The mirror had rattled Draco’s nerves and he barely listened to what Snape was droning on about. Snape mainly saw fit to update Draco on various matters that were not on the proverbial meeting agenda which irritated Draco more than he thought possible. Draco helped himself to a glass of whiskey, not bothering to offer Snape one unless he asked.

“You should remain sober, Draco. This meeting is critical for you,” Snape scolded.

“Exactly why I need a drink.”

“Perhaps it will calm you to know that your wife’s efforts have been a resounding success. It is a matter of now finalizing the formula and working out the logistics of…distribution,” Snape said.

“She’ll be delighted to know that you’ve admitted you were wrong about the basilisk fangs,” Draco said.

Snape, unamused as usual, did not acknowledge Draco’s sarcasm. “As for this meeting, I think it would be wise for you to make the suggestion of drawing Weasley and Granger out into the open. The scouts at the Weasley home are growing impatient and this is dragging on longer than you can afford.”

“The scouts won’t act without my orders.”

“How do you know?” Snape asked.

“Because I told them I’d kill them and their families if they didn’t and assured them I’m a man of my word.”

Snape sighed and drew a step closer to Draco. “Draco, you’re running out of time to keep yourself and Valeria safe from this. Your aversion to acting more surely and preemptively runs the risk of raising suspicion—”

“Are you questioning my loyalty?!”

“I’m questioning your wants.”

“Weasley at least will go to his family eventually. They never could help it.”

“He’s avoided his family for years. He needs a reason to act now. You need to give him one,” Snape said. Draco avoided Snape’s gaze and curled his lip inward.

“I want to do it quietly. I’m trying to avoid unnecessary risks and potentially losing one of our own. Who knows what Weasley and Granger have learned or picked up while in hiding—”

“Yet, you killed a marked Death Eater, your school friend, while he was a guest in your home without a second thought _after_ you put a curse on his life by forcing him to ingest unicorn blood. You’ve acted more severely under less precarious circumstances. I have to wonder what’s stopping you now.”

Draco was extra careful now to avoid Snape’s eyes. Draco was a skilled Occlumens, a competent Legilimens, but Snape was still nearly as gifted in the art as the Dark Lord himself. He couldn’t risk Snape seeing what was passing through his mind nor how it made him feel. He recalled seeing Potter with his two lackies in school. He remembered Granger screaming without relent at the hands of his merciless aunt. He saw now too the Weasley men being brutally, bloodily, murdered at Hogwarts one by one, even after Arthur Weasley had begged for his children’s lives. There was a slight pang in his heart for the now orphaned little boy he had brought to stay with Ginny Weasley.

Fortunately, Draco snapped out of it at the entrance of Tinky, who actually took the time to announce his presence for once, letting the two men know that Nott and Zabini had arrived. After the small-talk and the disappointment of having no new updates from either of them on the fugitives’ whereabouts, Draco was anxious. They went over maps and strategies and possibilities once more over the hours and all for nothing. As the evening crept on at a snail’s pace, Draco could feel Snape’s gaze, his judgment, his silent urging, boring into the side of Draco’s head. Draco swallowed.

“We need to draw them out into the open,” Draco said.

“Go for the sister then? She takes regular walks, should be easy to—” Blaise began.

“No,” Draco interrupted. “The mother.”

It was easy to lose track of time while absorbed in such intellectually demanding work, Valeria found. Though, being in a windowless room all alone certainly added to her not realizing how many hours had passed. She felt she had made progress, at least the notes she had taken this round made it appear so. Or perhaps she was completely on the wrong track. It was impossible to tell. Dark magic such as this was not a science. It was not a matter of wand waving or pronouncing old words in dead languages with the correct intonation. It was truly an art. While precision was vital, it was a matter of willpower, of inspiration and concentration; all things Valeria had been running short on as the years went on.

It had indeed been several hours when the door creaked open.

“I hope you’re not hoping to practice more. I’m exhausted and in no mood for your childish wanderings into our most…pornographic memories—”

“Miss Winters…”

That was not Draco’s voice.

Valeria turned clumsily like a frightened cat, face flushing bright red (thankfully her glamours compensated for this) in complete and utter humiliation. There stood Snape, her own bloody teacher, and from the look on his face, though he tried to hide it, he was just as embarrassed as she was.

“Good evening,” Valeria said. “Where’s Draco?”

“Finalizing some details with Nott and Zabini. He should be on shortly.”

“And what can I do for you in the meantime?” Valeria said, trying not to choke on her words through her mortification.

“I came to congratulate on your success with the Tranquila Sensus. Using the basilisk fangs to enable permanence of and to enhance the biological effects was nothing short of a stroke of genius,” he said.

She smirked a bit to hear that. Snape was almost never wrong in her experience. “Thank you, sir.”

“I know that the path you’ve taken to develop your intellectual interests has not been what you planned for in school, but I am pleased to see that you have become a great Potions Master, as I always believed you could be,” he said.

As much as Snape aggravated Valeria at times, it was hard not to be touched by the statement. Snape had, after all, been her mentor in the subject of potions. He most of all had nurtured her talent and interest, which she did truly appreciate somewhere deep down in spite of everything else. Not to mention, he had been the only teacher in school who understood her background, her family, her ambitions. He alone, of all the professors, had given a damn about what happened to Slytherin students, at least that’s how Valeria saw it.

“Thank you. That’s high praise coming from you,” she said truthfully.

“And it’s well-deserved,” he said. “What are you working on now?”

“That theory I had a while ago about Dark Patronuses.”

“Any progress?”

“Some,” she said going to her notes and handing them to him. “Have a look if you want.”

Snape began to read while she went over some dusty old book once again. He had a talent for being able to concentrate on what he was reading while also being an equal participant in a conversation.

“You weren’t at Boot and Lovegood’s wedding,” he said.

“An astute observation,” she said. “It was just a tiny Ministry ceremony. I made a statement about it for the paper.”

“Yes, that’s how I know you weren’t there. It was well said, perhaps a bit stale but—”

“I congratulated the happy couple and waxed poetic about bringing over former enemies to the right side, and how promising that is for our world. It was better than anything anyone wrote for me…”

“Convincing the public of all political persuasions is going to take more than platitudes once it’s the turn of others to wed. It’s your duty—”

“I’m aware. But if you think you could do so much better, I’d be happy to delegate some of that work to you, Professor.”

“I’m trying to help you. Maintaining perfection with ease is critical right now.”

She laughed. “You sound like my father.”

“Hieronymus was righter than he probably realized,” Snape said with a tinge of a sad lament. “Your progress is interesting. What sort of incantation are you trying?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re just trying to make a standard spell, a command, I doubt it will succeed. _Expecto Patronum_ means ‘I await a guardian.’ It’s not a command, it’s a request. Perhaps approaching it like that will yield better results,” he said, handing her notes back to her.

She smirked as she took the parchments. “I thought you’d weary of teaching by now.”

“Not for certain students. As interesting as your work is, I must be getting back to Hogwarts. Good evening, Miss Winters.”

She nodded in reciprocation of the farewell as he left the room. As soon as the door latched behind him, she let out a long sigh. She was kicking herself for having not thought of Snape’s advice before. She darted back up to the library and then back down, using a handy levitation charm so as not to have to carry all the old, heavy books on her own.

She flipped through the books of old spells, many long forgotten, for ideas. She wondered where Draco was, but an intellectual fire was lit in her heart and she refused to be distracted. More books. More notes. After quite a while she had a list of incantations which, combined with force of will, could have some effect. At least in theory. She moved down her list, waving her wand in the bare, empty room. Nothing came, but she was undeterred. Until the door creaked open again.

“Still working?” Draco asked as he stepped in. Valeria’s heart broke a little to see him. He wore a hopeless expression.

“Just got into a groove of sorts,” she said. “What did Snape want so urgently before?”

Draco sighed. “The Dark Lord wanted some object, a magic mirror, stored in the cellar. I didn’t ask why.”

“What kind of magic mirror?”

Draco looked away from her. “Shows you your deepest desires apparently.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.”

“What does the Dark Lord want with some parlor trick mirror?”

“I told you, I didn’t ask.”

“Did you see anything interesting?” she asked.

“No,” he said sternly. She sensed he was lying, but she knew well enough that with Draco, it was often better not to push the issue. “And it’s not important. Let’s see the progress you’ve made. Show me what you got.”

“I doubt anything will happen.”

“Just try. Humor me,” he said.

She nodded, humoring him. She took her position, aiming her wand. She summoned her anger, her grief, the memories of all the blood and horror she had witnessed in her barely more than two decades of life thus far. Careful and calculated, her will felt as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“ _Ecce Dolorem Meum_ ,” Valeria said, holding her wand out towards the wall on the other side of the unused room. She felt her wand cool in her hand for a moment as a stream of inky black smoke slowly flowed out from the tip of her wand. Amazed, she watched as the smoke tried to take shape in the air before her, but it slowly dissipated before long.

“Holy shit…” Draco said.

She sighed. “What are you talking about? It clearly isn’t working. I told you nothing would happen.”

“Are you mad? That _was_ something. You were right,” Draco said in borderline disbelief. “What’s that incantation mean?”

“ _Behold my pain_ ,” Valeria answered.

The crisp spring air soothed Ginny Weasley as she drifted in and out sleep in bed with the window open. Perhaps it was unwise, knowing the Burrow was under Death Eater surveillance, but she couldn’t help these little pleasures. She never slept well anymore, not for years, and so in the times where she found herself half-awake, she could hear her mother through the thins walls of the humble, but wonderfully cozy, home singing and humming to Teddy, to whom Molly had grown so very attached. Ginny almost wept at the sound. It reminded her of the past.

But she was sharply torn from these thoughts at the sound of a loud thud by the window. She sat bolt upright, hyperventilating in instinctive panic, but her fears turned to confusion when she saw a small parcel on the floor under the window and owl’s wings flying off in the distance. She carefully picked up the package, wrapped rather simply. There was no note of who it was for or who it was from. She slowly and with excruciating care undid the wrapping only to be met with a black book that bore no title.

Indeed, even the pages were blank which left her more bewildered. She flipped through it a few times, looking for a clue and making sure it wasn’t some Death Eater trick. Some writing on the inside cover caught her attention.

**_ WRITE _ **

Memories of her second year flooded back in an instant. She remembered Tom Riddle’s diary and how it had poisoned her mind and influenced her beyond anything she was capable of magically or morally. Was this that again? She had never gotten over that experience completely. Even in her late teens it had embarrassed her beyond belief that she could have been such a foolish, insecure little girl as to fall for something like that.

But she was older now. She knew better.

She got a quill and ink and took a deep breath before penning the words,

_What is this?_

To her surprise, and just as it did once in Tom Riddle’s destroyed diary, an answer came.

**_A way to communicate more efficiently._ ** ****

_Who are you?_

**_J.D._ ** ****

_Who is J.D.?_

**_That is the last question you should ask._ ** ****

_Then what do you have to tell me?_

**_On the final Saturday of this month, the detail surveilling you will be departing at Midnight. There will be a brief period in which you can ensure those sheltering in your home can escape._ **

****

_Why do they need to escape? What’s happening? Isn’t that good the detail will be gone?_

**_I’m afraid it’s not. Everyone, save you and your mother, need to evacuate._ **

****

_Are we danger?_

**_Not if you follow my instructions._ **

****

_Where are they supposed to go? There’s a child._

**_Contact Minerva. She’s your best option. It is best you do not know to where they flee._ **

****

_Can you tell me one goddamn useful thing?_

**_This; That I am saving your life. You will learn in due time, but for both our safeties, there’s only so much I can divulge and even communicating like this is a tremendous risk to us both._ **

****

_Can I reach you again with this book?_

**_Only do so if it is hopeless. I will reach you if I must. Do not tell anyone about this book, not even those you trust the most._ **

****

_Can I ask a question?_

**_I suppose. Keep it brief._ **

_Draco and Valeria Malfoy interrogated me, attacking me and my mother. You knew. You warned me. They were looking for basilisk fangs. Why did they want_

**_Stop writing now. That is nothing you need to know about._ **

****

_It is if they broke into my home and tore my house apart looking for them. Why would they think I had them_

**_I will end communication now if you do not stop._ **

****

_Just this then; Did they find what they were looking for?_

**_They usually do._ **

****


	17. Building Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Consensual sexual content. Foul language. Mild magical violence.

**June 1998**

Snape felt like a failure as he turned away from Draco Malfoy to pour a glass of blood red wine for the young man, freshly eighteen, but with the exhausted eyes of an eighty-year-old man. Snape had failed to protect anyone. He had failed to save Lily. He had failed to save the Order of the Phoenix. He had miserably failed to the son of the woman he loved; the one act that could have absolved him.

He wanted to resent Draco for what he did just one month ago at the Battle of Hogwarts. He wanted to shed the burden of the blame by putting it on the boy that had gone against orders to deliver Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. But when he turned to hand Draco the cup, he simply did not have it in him. He had known this boy practically from birth; the son of the first person at Hogwarts, save for Lily, who had been nice to him. Snape has tried to save Draco too, failing just as he had with everyone else.

The difference between Draco and the others was that Draco still drew breath. While the departed haunted him in memory, Snape had to face his failure directly in Draco’s thinning face and whithering spirit. Draco whispered a sullen “ _thank you_ ” and looked down into the cup as he hunched over, his white-blond hair falling in his eyes like the branches of a sorrowful willow tree.

Snape could tell Draco was trying not to jump and wince at the sound of the wind squealing outside the window of the house in Spinner’s End. This was not the low rumble of a billowing wind, but a wild whistling one. It sounded like the sky was screaming. Snape mumbled a charm while Draco was lost in thought, muffling the sound of the wind outside.

“What’s troubling you, Draco?” Snape asked, concealing his crippling guilt. It was a stupid question. Snape knew what tormented Draco; In fact, there was very little left that didn’t trouble him, in all likelihood. Draco, at least the arrogant version of him that Snape had known so well, would have surely pointed this out with sneering disdain. Instead, this broken boy was silent, sipping from his wine with a slight tremor in his hand. The ring on Draco’s left hand made a small clinking noise against the glass as he clasped his hands around it. Draco lifted his head and Snape remembered with a pang of guilt and pity the swaggering braggart of a boy he had once been, only to be ground down to this.

“Does it get easier?” Draco asked, barely above a whisper. A primal flare of anger boiled Snape’s blood for the briefest of moments. It had been Draco’s decision to choose love over the fate of the world. How dare he try to seek absolution from Snape? But Snape relaxed quickly. Afterall, had Snape not made the same choice long ago?

“In time,” Snape said, though he was lying. Draco was too fragile to hear the truth and while Snape usually favored brutal, even exaggerated, honesty, this was not the time. Snape rose again and haphazardly threw together a small plate of simple foods and set it on the table between them. Draco had always been a bit on the lankier side, but he was much too thin now for a young man of his age. “Eat.”

“I can’t…I can’t keep it down,” Draco said as if embarrassed. Draco almost looked nauseous at the sight of food. Snape shoved the plate closer.

“Try. That’s an order. You’re no good to anyone if you’re starving,” Snape said. Draco, slowly and reluctantly, picked at the plate without argument.

“I thought…I thought that if I was the one that brought… _him_ to the Dark Lord that I would be able to…I thought it’d get better. I’d stop being punished—” Draco said, voice cracking weakly and struggling to say it concisely.

“You’re being rewarded, Draco,” Snape said coldly. Draco threw a piece of bread onto the plate.

“Then why do I have to keep doing this?!” Draco cried out, breathing hard. The Dark Lord had been quite pleased with Draco to the point that he was eager to push Draco as far as he could. Snape knew he especially desired to hold over Lucius’s head that his son was the true successor to the Malfoy legacy, humiliating the father further. Draco had been tasked with hunting down known followers of Potter and bringing his school friends into the fold of the Death Eaters. Nott and Zabini would be receiving Dark Marks that very weekend.

“Because the war didn’t end with Potter’s death,” Snape said, seeing Draco wince a little at the sound of the dead boy’s name. “The sooner you accept it—”

“Does it matter if I accept it?”

“No,” Snape said. Draco inhaled sharply, his breath hitching a little on the exhale. He swallowed hard and took a few moments before speaking again as if doing so would cause him to completely unravel.

“I need to ask a favor,” Draco said, returning to speaking barely above a whisper.

“I will do what I can, but only what I can,” Snape said.

“I know. I don’t want to ask you, but there’s no one else…”

“What is it, Draco?”

Draco leaned forward, his austere gaze looking directly into Snape’s eyes. “Sixth year when I was trying to…Dumbledore, Valeria helped me—”

“Yes, I remember,” Snape said, having known from the beginning of the plot and counterplot of Dumbledore’s assassination. He had disagreed with Dumbledore, wanting to keep Draco and Valeria apart to the best of his ability to prevent them from plunging further into darkness together whereas Dumbledore wanted them to be free to help each other. It was one of the few times that Snape believed Dumbledore to be dreadfully wrong.

“You don’t know everything,” Draco said sternly. “We made a promise, when she found out about the Mark and that I was doing it to save her life. I was keeping her alive and she promised to keep me alive too. It was stupid. Shortsighted, at least at the time, but we’ve been living like that ever since.”

“That’s…romantic, I suppose,” Snape said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t see how that pertains to me.”

Draco swallowed again. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to let go of the promise anytime soon. But I plan on keeping my end of the bargain and I know she’ll stop at nothing to keep hers. I need _you_ to promise me that if something ever happens to me—”

“You should not expect the worst, but if it soothes you, I’m sure she’ll be taken care of. Your parents, her mother—”

Draco scoffed and gave Snape an annoyed, knowing look. “She can take care of herself, even if she doesn’t realize it. My parents are practically powerless, my aunt wants her dead and her mother, as you know, has never had Valeria’s best interest in mind, even if she thinks she does. I’m not asking you to take care of her if something happens to me.”

“Then what can I possibly do—?”

“If you’d let me finish!” Draco shouted in frustration, quickly collecting himself after the outburst. “I’m asking that if it comes down to my life of hers that you will do everything in your power to save her over me.”

“Draco, I highly doubt a situation will arise where such a choice is needed—”

“I doubted my life would end up like this, Snape, I don’t give a shit about what you think will or won’t happen. You know Valeria. She’s stubborn and she’s has no regard for her own life anymore. She’d do whatever she had to save me if it came to that and I’m asking you not to let her if it’s likely to kill her to. Don’t let her keep her end of our deal.”

“You’re not thinking rationally—”

“Maybe not, but I really don’t care,” Draco said. “I’m the only one who gives a shit about her and _you people_ made us get married, making me responsible for her.”

“Other people care too, Draco,” Snape said sincerely. He did mourn for the dark turn Valeria’s life took. Snape always like Hieronymus, even Odessa to some extent. He mourned for Konstantin too, one of his favorite students he had the pleasure of teaching. Now he was forced to watch as the last of the Winters, in all her potential, was swallowed up by the hell Draco had ignorantly and accidentally created. He could not share with Draco the things he saw in her memories, nor the ones he had erased from her mind. It wasn’t safe for either of them.

“Then prove it. Help me sleep at night for once. Promise me that if it comes down to it, you will save her life over mine,” Draco pleaded.

Snape was too taken aback by Draco’s request to appreciate how events had repeated once again. Snape had once begged Dumbledore, even Voldemort, for Lily Potter’s life. Narcissa Malfoy had begged for her son’s, urging Snape to Draco’s place. Now Draco appealed to him for Valeria’s life.

“I promise.”

**April 2003**

Draco felt Valeria’s little exhales on the skin of his chest, her head rested on him, her body pressed up against his as he lay on his back. He held onto her free hand, playing with her fingers and feeling the little bones of her hand as the firelight made the small beads of sweat, still remaining on their bodies after lovemaking. Their little ritual before Draco was set to go out on a mission had slowly returned and repaired.

“You’re breathing odd,” she said quietly, breaking the pensive silence. She tilted her head up to look up at him with that flippant little smirk that he adored so much. “Did you overexert yourself, Mr. Malfoy?”

He let out a little laugh. “There’s more where that came from, I assure you.”

“You sure you’re not getting old?”

“I can prove it to you, if you like,” he joked.

“You’re vile,” she said, laughing a little.

He moved, carefully but swiftly, to bring himself back on top of her, entangling his fingers in her hair. “You didn’t seem to mind me being so vile just a bit ago.” He leaned down to kiss her hard and fully, feeling his body respond to the prospect of lovemaking again. She reciprocated him for a few moments before pushing him gently off.

“There’s no time. You need to get ready,” she said a little sadly, pushing the hair out of his face. He sighed and hung his head in disappointment, though he knew she was right. She pushed on his chest a little once more and he let her out from under him. But watching her get out of bed and seeing her body before she put on her silken dressing gown made the disappointment even worse. She tapped the mattress a couple times. “Up you get.”

He rolled onto his back and flopped onto the pillows. “You’re killing me, Winters.”

There was no point in hoping she’d change her mind. He was simply stalling. He eventually rose and the ritual resumed in which she helped him dress for war. She handed an average dose of the Tranquila Sensus potion and he eagerly drank, feeling the anxiety and fear neutralize with relief within his body and mind. Tinky arrived to inform them that Blaise and Nott had arrived downstairs, the agreed meeting point, and Valeria followed Draco to see them off after getting dressed herself.

Draco was surprised to see that Daphne and Tracey had accompanied their husbands to Malfoy Manor, but not as surprised as Valeria who happily greeted her friends, particularly Tracey. If Draco’s emotions hadn’t been so dulled in the moment, he would have reveled in seeing Valeria smile so much.

“Hope it’s not intruding,” Blaise said. “Daphne thought it might be nice for you ladies to have some time together while we’re gone.”

Draco knew Blaise was being gentle. Valeria hardly ever admitted it, but he knew each time he left for some task that she was festering in fear waiting for him. The women were there to keep each other company through the stress.

“Not at all,” Valeria said.

With a final kiss of farewell Draco left Valeria with her friends, trying all the while to rid his mind of knowing the suffering he was about to cause.

The latching of the large, double doors of the main entrance of Malfoy Manor echoed ominously in the foyer, but Valeria ignored it and ushered her friends into a sitting room in the secure privacy of the North Wing. She had Tinky supply them with food and wine, lighting a fire in the garishly ornate fireplace to keep them warm. She was particularly relieved to see Tracey, given how she had become a shut-in.

“What do you two do when they’re gone?” Tracey asked after some small talk.

Valeria raised her glass of wine. “This, but alone.” It was an honest answer, though she would pace around the house while drinking, usually.

“I sit by the window with all my healing supplies ready to go,” Daphne said, looking down at the floor.

“Why the window?” Tracey asked.

“In case an owl comes. With news,” Daphne said, taking a deep gulp of wine. Valeria had been hoping this reunion of friends would have a bit more life to it, to distract her from Draco’s being in harm’s way. Nor did she like to linger on what it was like to be a high-ranking Death Eater’s helpless wife. She had more privilege and power than most, but it was everything else that she despised about it.

“Theodore makes me sleeping draughts so that he’s back when I wake up in the morning,” Tracey said.

“That’s kind of him,” Valeria said.

“He says I worry too much,” Tracey said.

“Probably not. How much you worry is relative to the gravity of what you’re afraid of losing,” Daphne said.

“They’re all strong, intelligent and quite capable wizards,” Valeria said. “I know it’s hard not to worry, but they know how to do their jobs.” Being Draco Malfoy’s wife meant that she would sometimes have to lie to herself that certain sentiments were true in order to bring comfort to others. While the three men were indeed capable, that didn’t mean much given the amount of danger they were regularly in. There was a lull in the conversation. What else was there to say? Oddly enough, it was Tracey who seemed most eager for chitchat.

“Who do you think they’d be if they weren’t…Death Eaters?” Tracey asked. Both Daphne and Valeria gave her an odd, albeit intrigued look. They were silent for a moment before Daphne burst out laughing.

“Blaise will kill me if I tell you,” Daphne said.

“Well now we have to know,” Valeria insisted with Tracey’s agreement.

“You can’t tell him I told you. You can’t tell Theodore or Draco either.”

“Out with it,” Valeria said.

“He wanted to design robes,” Daphne said.

“Like for fashion?” Tracey asked.

Daphne nodded. “Ever since our fourth year. He had opinions about what people wore to the Yule Ball.” The other women laughed, not so much mocking Blaise but by how well designing fashionable garments really would have suited Blaise, known for his snobbery and critical opinions. What a world that would have been to have him be able to pursue it. “Alright, I spilled. Your turn, both of you.”

Tracey shrugged. “Theodore said his father wanted him to be a Legislator, but he wanted to be an artist. He probably would have done what his father wanted if he hadn’t been a Death Eater, though.”

“Really? He doesn’t strike me as the type with a keen aesthetic eye,” Daphne said.

Tracey laughed, wearing a proud little smile. “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about him; that most people don’t know. He has sketchbooks full of stuff.”

“I could see it. He always liked to brood by himself, scribbling away on parchment,” Valeria recalled.

“That’s what I liked about him. He was mysterious,” Tracey said. “Your turn. What did Draco want to be when he grew up?”

“He wanted to be just like his father,” Valeria said with a shrug.

“That’s it?” Tracey asked.

“He wasn’t exactly the most open-minded when he was younger; I’m sure you remember,” Valeria said.

Tracey perked up. “Remember that time, third year I think, we all pretended to forget it was his birthday until after dinner in the common room?!” The other ladies burst out laughing too. So much so that wine nearly came out of Valeria’s nose.

“He was furious!” Valeria said. “God, that was good. He wouldn’t shut up about his birthday for two weeks straight and then he all thought we forgot. Completely brilliant.”

“So Draco’s the only one of our dear, devoted husbands who had a predictable career goal. I’m not surprised,” Daphne observed.

“I like predictable. Means I can stay a step ahead of him,” Valeria said with a smirk.

Daphne rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You two were made for each other.”

“It’s weird to think about, isn’t it? We were throwing snowballs at each other a few years ago and now we’re all married to each other. I’m surprised it’s not more awkward. Isn’t it odd to marry someone who’s known you since you were an embarrassing teenager?” Tracey rambled, the wine getting to her.

“I _was_ a teenager,” Valeria said, laughing a little.

“That must have been the worst wedding night ever, Valeria, I’m sorry. At least it worked out eventually,” Daphne said, trying not to laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“ _You know_ , Valeria…” Tracey said suggestively.

Valeria laughed again. There was a lot of laughter in this room tonight, she noticed. “No, we didn’t do it on the wedding night. It was still horribly awkward. We slept on opposite edges of the bed and nearly fell off—”

“You didn’t?! We all thought you did! Like some kind of requirement…” Daphne said.

“It was _expected_ , but we didn’t, no. Not until Christmas of that year. Oh, God, I don’t think I ever told you how I thought I was pregnant for a week or so back in school—”

“You what?!” Tracey said.

“It was an absolute mess,” Valeria said, cringing at the memory, but stopping to reflect a moment. “Before all that, I was so sure it would work out one way, and then life just shoved me, shoved us all, in the opposite direction.”

“Remember Pansy’s prediction of who everyone would end up with? What was that, like third year?” Tracey said after a moment of silent agreement.

“Oh, god that was funny. She was having some tiff with Millicent and declared in her roster that Millicent would end up a cranky, old spinster. Weren’t you paired Pucey, I was with Warrington for some goddamn reason and Valeria was matched with Nott!” Daphne said.

Tracey nearly spit out her wine trying to subdue a laugh. “I just can’t understand the logic!”

“And then the boys avoided us like the plague after she put it out for everyone to see anyway!” Valeria said.

“And she put herself with Draco, of course. Not that she was subtle about liking him at the time. I would have paid good money to see those two have a proper go at a relationship,” Daphne said.

“They would have killed each other sooner rather than later,” Valeria said with a sort of sad reminiscence. There was another long pause, each woman waiting for the other to think of something appropriate to say.

“I miss her,” Tracey finally said quietly.

“She could be a real bitch sometimes, lots of the time, but I miss her. She didn’t deserve that. No one does,” Daphne said.

“I’m happy Goyle is dead,” Valeria said sternly. “I just wish he had suffered longer.”

The women continued talking, reminiscing about the joys and blunders of their adolescent years. They kept drinking to take the edge off, to try and find some distracting relief from the worries that always privately plagued them when their husbands were off on dark tasks. There was still some life in them left, some laughter, some dark maze through which they could navigate and find some comfort.

But there was no comfort for Ginny Weasley that night. She sat up in the near darkness of the Burrow’s living area, fiddling with her wand to give her hands something to do. J.D., whoever he or she was, had warned her about this night and she had made quick work of getting Neville, Seamus and Teddy out. Molly was beside herself when the young men took Teddy to stay with McGonagall, but there was no way they could care for the besotted, confused boy while on the run themselves. The men had chosen not to tell Ginny where they were going so as not to endanger her. She knew it was for the best, but she worried all the same.

Her chest rose and fell in pain as her heart thumped so hard that it began to ache. Every sound of the house shifting or an animal scurrying about outside made her jump. She tried to hope. She felt guilty at the immense relief she felt not to have people hiding in the makeshift cellar nor having to care for a naïve child anymore. But she knew all too well how this could not be good. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Was she awaiting a way out or was she waiting to die? What was the difference in the end?

She found a moment to catch her breath. To take a long, deep inhale, the deepest breath she had taken in years. For a moment she felt in control, like she could navigate whatever was about to come.

Then every window on the first floor of the burrow shattered.

Gripping her wand in hand, Ginny jumped out of the way of the broken glass only to see fractions of a second later the entire dim house fill with the darkness of a magical thick, dark smoke. She could hear her mother screaming upstairs and Ginny tried to feel her way to the staircase, calling out for her mother when she felt her wand fly out of her hand and two arms reach around her entire body to hold her in place.

“Cooperate and no one has to get hurt,” her captor said. She knew that voice and her heart fell only to be filled with murderous rage to feel Draco Malfoy’s grip around her. “Find the mother! Be sure she’s unharmed!”

“NO!” Ginny screamed, struggling all the more. But Draco was bigger, stronger and she had grown weaker in her physical and mental exhaustion. His hold on her did not loosen and she could hear Molly scream out for her as commotion rang through the house. “TAKE ME! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHAT ARE—WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HER!?”

“We’re taking her to Malfoy Manor,” Draco said calmly. She tried to strike him, but she was unable to.

“I told you to cooperate,” Draco spat near her ear.

“FUCK YOU!”

Suddenly, Molly’s screaming stopped, and Ginny could hear more commotion drawing nearer as she herself continued to cry out for her mother.

“We have her, Malfoy! We’re ready!” said another familiar male voice just outside the Burrow.

“Remember, Malfoy Manor,” Draco whispered calmly before releasing Ginny. Ginny whirled around in the smokey darkness, swinging her arms at where Draco stood, but meeting with nothing. He was gone as quickly as he came. The smoke began to lift, and she saw the mess the Death Eaters had left behind. She darted for the door as soon as she could see it again, but there was no one outside. They were all gone.

She cried out for her mother as angry, sorrowful tears filled her eyes, wailing into the night futilely. As it dawned on her that Molly was gone, she felt her legs shake so hard with fear and grief that they gave out from under her, and sharp pain radiated up from her knees as they hit the ground hard.

Draco had tried to arrive in the foyer of Malfoy Manor with the others, and their captive, as quietly as possible, but that was easier said than done. The apparition of him, Nott and Blaise with an incapacitated Molly Weasley had been far louder than he wanted and echoed off the smooth stone walls of the entrance hall. Draco knew his parents were far off and asleep in their own wing of the Manor, Odessa as well. He hoped the women were too distracted with catching up to notice.

But when he heard the clacking of hard soled shoes approach, he resisted the urge to curse aloud. He knew those were Valeria’s steps and had he not been so mired in this situation would have reflected on how easily he could recognize her steps just from sound alone. He turned as she walked under an archway, her face full of relief at first but contorting in confused anger as soon as she saw Blaise and Nott levitated Molly’s alive, but unconscious body.

“Take her to the cellar. The elf cleared a spot for her there,” Draco ordered, and the two men followed his order without another word, avoiding Valeria’s gaze.

“Draco, what in the fuck—” Valeria began as she marched over, and he noticed a slight misstep in her gait and her words somewhat slurred. She smelled of wine as she came close.

“You’re drunk, go back to the others,” he said, but that was futile as he should have known.

“The Weasley woman!?”

“It’s only temporary—”

“I told you that there’d be no prisoners—!”

“It’s just a small part of a plan and I’ve accounted for everything—” he began. She began to sway a little and he grabbed her forearms as to steady her.

“No prisoners in my goddamn house!”

“ _My_ house, remember?!” Draco said through his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but this was the last thing he needed right now. “We need to bring Weasley and Granger into the open. This was the only way to do it without bloodshed. Once we have them, she’ll be returned home. No harm will come to her, we’re just storing her—”

“You’re _‘storing her’_??? Do you even hear yourself?!”

“Stop shouting!”

“Take her to Azkaban then!”

“If Weasley and Granger show up to rescue her, I want to get to them first. This is just a trap, Valeria—”

“ _Just a trap_?! What is wrong with—”

He tightened his grip on her, not so much as to pain her, and brough her close to his face. “What’s wrong with me is that I’m once again stuck with cleaning up your mess! You’re the one who let Weasley and the mudblood walk free and I have to fix it because we’re both _dead_ if anyone finds out, remember?!”

Valeria didn’t respond, but she he could see how upset she was. The potion she gave him still lingered and while he felt numb, she still stirred his emotions enough for him to recognize guilt within himself. He remembered Luna Lovegood’s captivity here and all the trouble it caused. He could only pray that wouldn’t happen again.

He inhaled. “Weasley won’t be able to stay in hiding long once word of this gets out. It will be over soon, I promise. I just need you, I really need you, to stay out of this at all costs. Do not go down there. Do not talk to her. Do not even think about her. I’ll block the way for you if I have to. Understood?”

Valeria nodded. She wouldn’t even look at him.

“Go back to Daphne and Tracey. Don’t tell them what you saw.”

**_MOLLY WEASLEY CAPTURED_ ** ****

_Some three nights ago, the 2 nd Tier Death Eater Regiment captured Molly Weasley, known blood traitor and member of the Order of the Phoenix in both the first and second Wizard Wars. When reached out to for comment on the nature of her crimes warranting capture, Mr. Draco Malfoy, head of the Regiment, said “I’m afraid I cannot disclose the details of the matter at this time. This is a very serious situation that requires the utmost care and discretion as we proceed with our thorough investigation.”_

_Serious indeed as Mrs. Weasley, mother and wife to many terrorists who assisted Harry Potter in the Great Rebellion, including the late Ronald Weasley, is currently being held in Malfoy Manor and not in Azkaban Prison. However, we can be sure that this is in the best of hands under Mr. Malfoy’s leadership, as he has proven time and time again._

**_NEW REQUIREMENTS FOR WANDLESS ANNOUNCED_ ** ****

_The Department of Purity has issued a statement announcing the new requirement for all Wandless, that being those who possess stolen magic and cannot prove blood pedigree, to present themselves to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for examination. All those found out of compliance with this order will be subject to severe disciplinary action and citizens of the Wizarding World are encouraged to report any failures to comply._

_The Department of Purity would also like to extend its gratitude to Mrs. Draco Malfoy for lending her expertise to this new program._

Ink blotches stained the pages of _The Daily Prophet_ over the articles which were suspiciously situated side by side. Ginny’s hands were covered in ink from the hours she had spent ceaselessly writing in the blank book J.D. had sent to her, asking him for help, for answers. She had no idea what to believe. Surely, Draco Malfoy was not to be trusted, but neither was the paper. Her mind had reeled for days assuming all the worst possibilities, lamenting just how spectacularly she failed to protect the last of her family. She heard from no one; not McGonagall, not Seamus or Neville either. She had never felt so alone. So abandoned. So helpless.

Ginny had the windows open, which she had easily enough magically repaired. She found the cold breeze kept her awake when exhaustion threatened to take her. She knew it would only make the sorry state of her worsen, perhaps even grow ill, but she couldn’t risk sleeping too much for fear of missing some solution, clue or event that would provide her an answer or some assurance to act.

Her heart stopped cold when she heard voices outside. Hushed voices, mumbling to each other and slowly approaching by the sound of it. She lunged across the table for her wand and dared not go to the window, pressing her back up against a wall across from the door to the house. Breathing quickly, nearly panting, she raised it, this time ready to strike whoever dared enter. She could not discern what the voices were saying, nor could she properly hear them over the sound of her belabored breath.

The knob began to turn, they must have magically unlocked the door. Ginny kicked herself for being so distracted as to not think to learn better security charms. The door opened swiftly, and the evening light of sunset filled the dim room.

“STOP!” Ginny shouted, trying to steady her trembling arm.

“Ginny…?”

Ginny’s breath hitched. She knew that voice, but it was impossible. Surely it was not possible. Her eyes adjusted to the new light and she saw standing there the tall, lanky figure and messy red hair of her dead brother, Ron.

“Is this a joke?! What do you people want from me?!”

Ron, or whoever this person was pretending to be Ron, stepped in followed by Hermione, her hair shorter but still as wild and curly as she remembered. Hermione shut the door quickly behind her and raised her hands to signal she was unarmed.

“WHO ARE YOU!?” Ginny screamed through tears.

“Ginny…It’s me…” said Ron, his voice cracking through his own tears.

“My brothers are dead!”

“We made it out, Ginny. I swear it’s us—” Hermione said.

“PROVE IT! When did Harry first kiss me!?” Ginny demanded.

A moment of silence preceded Ron’s answer. “Gryffindor common room. Your fifth year.”

“After Gryffindor won that Quidditch match. Ginny, please. We know this is a shock, but…it’s us.”

Ginny was reeling, shaking harder than ever before, she lowered her wand and took them in, staring at them across the room in shock and confusion; a cocktail of emotions that her frazzled mind could not even begin to fathom. But she could move. She took off at a run towards Ron and collapsed in his arms as they embraced each other, weeping. Sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe, she let out years’ worth of sorrow in his comforting grip.


End file.
